One Heartbeat At A Time
Marcus stood in the doorway of Christian’s office, arms crossed, tie loosened after another fruitless day of digging.
The room was dim, only the desk lamp and the cold glow from the city outside.
Christian sat behind the desk, elbows on the wood, fingers steepled against his lips, staring at nothing.
“Nothing,” Marcus said flatly. “No credit-card hits. No phone pings. No transit records. No hospital admissions under her name. No lease renewals, no utility changes, no social-media shadow. It’s like she vanished into thin air.
Either she’s off-grid on purpose… or someone made sure she stayed that way. ”
Christian didn’t move. The silence stretched until it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
Marcus shifted his weight. “You divorced her, Chris. You let her go. You told her she’d rot in prison if she fought you. She killed Ashton... or at least that’s what you spent years believing. So why are you worrying now?”
Christian’s gaze flicked up... sharp, almost startled, as though the question had physically struck him.
“Because she’s Symphony’s mother,” he answered, voice low and rough.
Marcus didn’t blink. “Is that the only reason?”
Christian exhaled... a long, ragged sound, and leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. The exhaustion was carved into every line.
“Please, Marcus,” he said quietly. “Come back when you have something useful.”
Marcus rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. He pushed off the doorframe.
“Why don’t you ask Ashley?” he said. “She’s been… awfully quiet lately.”
Christian’s hand dropped from his face. He looked at Marcus and the silence that followed was colder than any winter wind.
Marcus gave a small shrug. “Just saying.”
He turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.
Christian stayed seated, staring at the empty doorway for a long time.
The city lights kept moving outside... indifferent, endless.
But inside the office, something had shifted.
And the name Ashley suddenly tasted like ash on his tongue.
×××××××
Melody sat beside Margaret in Dr. Aniston’s quiet consultation room, the late-afternoon light filtering through half-closed blinds and pooling on the polished desk.
The space felt calm... bookshelves lined with medical texts, a small vase of white tulips, the faint scent of bergamot from a diffuser on the shelf. Melody’s hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly; she’d been rubbing her temples on and off for the last hour.
Dr. Aniston reviewed the printout of Melody’s latest blood-pressure readings and the results from the twenty-four-hour ambulatory monitor she’d worn the previous week. She set the papers down and looked at Melody directly.
“I’ve gone over everything,” she began. “The headaches you’ve been having for the past two weeks, the ones that start behind your eyes and wrap around to the back of your head, are directly tied to elevated blood pressure.
Your readings have been consistently high, even at rest. The average over twenty-four hours is 148/96. That’s stage 2 hypertension.”
Melody’s breath caught. Margaret reached over and covered her hand with her own, a silent anchor.
Dr. Aniston continued gently, “This didn’t start recently.
Your blood pressure spiked dangerously during your emergency C-section, likely triggered by the physical stress, blood loss, and possibly an underlying preeclampsia component that wasn’t fully diagnosed at the time.
That first spike damaged the blood vessels and set the stage for chronic hypertension.
It was controlled briefly with medication after delivery, but it never fully normalized. ”
She paused, letting that settle.
“Then came the assault at the diner,” Dr. Aniston went on.
“Extreme fear, pain, adrenaline overload... your pressure shot up to 190/120 on arrival here. That second major spike pushed it from borderline to established chronic hypertension. The headaches are your body’s warning signal.
Left untreated, this could lead to stroke, heart strain, kidney damage.
You’re young, so we can manage it very well.
.. but we need to start treatment now and keep it lifelong. ”
Melody’s free hand drifted unconsciously to her abdomen, over the scar. Her voice came out small.
“Lifelong?”
Dr. Aniston nodded, expression kind but firm.
“Yes. One pill a day, most likely a calcium channel blocker, amlodipine 5 mg to start. We’ll monitor and adjust if needed.
You’ll also need to track your blood pressure at home twice daily, keep sodium low, stay hydrated, manage stress, and continue light exercise as you’re able.
The good news is that with consistent medication and lifestyle, most people keep their numbers in a safe range for decades. You can live a full, active life.”
Melody’s eyes filled. “I… I was hoping it would go away. After everything calmed down. After I got stronger.”
Dr. Aniston leaned forward slightly. “I know. And I’m sorry it didn’t.
But this isn’t your fault. Your body went through massive trauma twice.
The C-section and the assault both pushed it past its limits.
The hypertension is the aftermath. It’s not weakness.
It’s a scar, like the one on your abdomen.
We treat it, we manage it, and you keep going. ”
Margaret squeezed Melody’s hand. “You’re not alone in this,” she said quietly. “We’ll get the monitor, the prescription, whatever you need. You’ll take the tablet every morning with breakfast. Simple as that.”
Melody nodded slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I just… I want to be strong for her. For Symphony. I can’t be sick. I can’t be… broken.”
Dr. Aniston’s voice softened further. “You’re not broken. And high blood pressure is one of the most manageable chronic conditions we treat. You’ll take the medicine, you’ll rest when you need to, you’ll eat well, and you’ll keep fighting for your daughter. That’s strength. That’s what mothers do.”
Melody wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”
Dr. Aniston smiled, small and reassuring.
“That’s the right answer. I’ll write the prescription now.
We’ll start with amlodipine 5 mg once daily.
Come back in four weeks for a follow-up; we’ll check your numbers and see how you’re tolerating it.
In the meantime, home monitor twice a day.
.. morning and evening. Log the readings. Bring the log next time.”
She stood and printed the prescription, handing it across the desk.
“You’re going to be fine, Melody,” she said. “You have people who care about you. Use them. Let them help.”
Melody took the paper, fingers trembling only slightly.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Dr. Aniston gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving.
Margaret waited until the door closed, then turned to Melody.
“You’re going to be alright,” she said, voice steady and certain. “One pill. One day at a time. We’ll keep your numbers perfect. And when you’re ready, when your body is strong again, we’ll go after everything else.”
Melody nodded, tears still falling but slower now.
Margaret leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get you home. You’ve earned a quiet evening and a proper dinner.”
Melody let Margaret help her up, leaning lightly on her arm.
And as they walked out of the office together, Melody felt the weight of the prescription in her pocket... not as a burden, but as a promise.
She would take the pill every day.
She would heal.
She would grow strong.
And one day, she would take back everything they had stolen from her.
One heartbeat at a time.
×××××××
Christian drove through the wrought-iron gates of the Quinn Estate just after dusk, the long gravel driveway crunching under the tires of his black SUV.
The mansion loomed ahead, white stone, tall columns, every window lit like a stage set waiting for its final act. He didn’t bother parking neatly; he pulled up directly in front of the entrance, killed the engine, and stepped out without closing the door.
The butler opened the double doors before he reached them.
“Mr. Holt,” the man said, voice smooth but wary. “Miss Quinn is in the drawing room.”
Christian didn’t wait for an escort. He strode past, coat still on, boots leaving faint marks on the marble.
Ashley was standing by the fireplace when he entered, a glass of wine in her hand, silk robe tied loosely over leggings. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, smile already forming, until she saw his face.
The smile died.
“Christian,” she said, setting the glass down. “You didn’t call.”
“Where is she?” His voice was low, flat, lethal in its calm.
Ashley blinked, feigning confusion. “Who?”
“Don’t.” He took one step closer. “Melody. She’s gone. No contact. No visits. No trace. More than fifteen days. She would never miss seeing Symphony. Not unless someone made sure she couldn’t.”
Ashley laughed. “You think I had something to do with that? I haven’t seen her. I haven’t spoken to her. I don’t even know where she lives anymore.”
Christian moved forward slowly, closing the distance until he stood just inside her personal space.
“You threatened her,” he said. “You told her to stay away. You got her fired from the coffee shop. And now she’s vanished. So I’ll ask again... where. Is. She?”
Ashley lifted her chin, eyes flashing.
“I have no idea. Maybe she finally realized she’s nothing. Maybe she ran off with whatever scraps she had left. Or maybe she’s hiding because she knows she’s guilty. I don’t care. She’s gone. Good riddance.”
Christian’s hand shot out... not to strike, but to grip the mantel beside her head, caging her against the fireplace.
His voice dropped to a near whisper, cold enough to frost the air between them.
“If I find out you touched her, if I find even one shred of proof that you know where she is… I will destroy you. Not quietly. Not with lawyers. I will take everything. Your name. Your money. Your family’s reputation. I will make sure every door closes on you for the rest of your life.”
Ashley’s smile faltered, but she held his gaze.
“You’re threatening me? After everything I’ve done for you? For Symphony? I was the one holding your family together while you obsessed over a murderer—”
He stepped back abruptly, cutting her off with a single look.
“You drugged my daughter,” he said. “You put sedatives in her milk so she’d sleep through your little performance as perfect stepmother. You made her sick. You made her cry. And now Melody is missing. If you had anything to do with it, you have one chance to tell me. Right now.”
Ashley’s face hardened. “I don’t know anything. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. She’s better off gone. Symphony’s better off without her. And so are you.”
Christian stared at her for a long, silent moment... searching her eyes for any crack, any flicker of guilt.
He found nothing but defiance.
He turned without another word and walked out.
The front door slammed behind him.
Ashley stood alone in the drawing room, wine glass forgotten, breathing hard.
Then she smiled.
He could search all he wanted.
Melody was gone.
And he will eventually come back to her.
×××××××