Page 40 of Devil's Advocate
By the time we reached WakeMed, my stomach was in knots.The building loomed like a slab of white stone under a dull sky, the red EMERGENCY sign flashing faintly through the drizzle.I stared at it and tried not to breathe too shallowly.
The lobby doors whooshed open as we stepped inside.The smell hit me first — antiseptic and metal, sharp enough to make me flinch.My palms went slick.
“Breathe,” Lucien murmured beside me, sliding a reassuring hand to the small of my back.
“I’m fine,” I lied, though my pulse was galloping.Hospitals made me feel like a teenager again — powerless, waiting for bad news from men who smiled while they broke you.
The elevator ride felt endless, the hum of machinery and faint chatter from nurses turning into a chorus of ghosts.When the doors finally opened onto the cardiac ward, I hesitated.The hallway stretched out sterile and quiet, the floors polished enough to reflect the overhead lights like halos.
Room 214.Sheila had texted me the number.
Lucien reached the door first, pausing with his hand on the knob.“You sure?”he asked.
No, I wasn’t.But I nodded anyway.
The room was dim, lit mostly by the muted glow of monitors and the half-drawn blinds filtering late afternoon light.My father lay in the bed, smaller than I remembered, his skin pale and his once-booming voice reduced to the faint rasp of his breathing.The oxygen tube framed his face, and his hand twitched against the blanket as if even when unconscious, he was still restless.
I froze.All the anger I’d rehearsed on the drive down evaporated.All that was left was this heavy, hollow ache — the kind you feel when you realize the monster from your childhood was just a man all along.
Lucien stayed by the door, and I stepped closer to the bed.
“Hey, Daddy,” I whispered.My voice barely made it past my throat.
He didn’t stir.The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence.I swallowed, forcing the words out.“You look… tired.”
My hand shook a little as I reached for the rail.I didn’t touch him — just needed to anchor myself to something that didn’t move.
“I heard about your show,” I mumbled.“Still preaching obedience, huh?”A bitter smile ghosted across my face.“Guess your own heart got tired of listening.”
Lucien gave me a quiet glance that said, go easy on him.
“I didn’t come here to be cruel,” I murmured.“I came because—because I don’t want to carry this anymore.”
The air felt heavier the longer I stood there.My chest tightened, the faint antiseptic smell mixing with something faintly floral — the same cheap air freshener they used in my mother’s hospice room.The memories hit hard.I remembered the soft click of heels in hallways, and the quiet prayers I’d whispered that God had ignored.
I drew a shaky breath.“You broke me down to mold me into your image, Daddy.You made me believe love was punishment.”
Lucien’s reflection glimmered faintly in the window glass, his expression unreadable but full of quiet strength.That steadiness helped me find my voice again.
“I forgive you,” I said finally.The words felt like glass leaving my throat.“Not because you deserve it.But because I need to be free.”
Lucien took a slow step forward, stopping beside me.I reached back and found his hand without looking.His fingers laced through mine, warm, grounding.
“And this,” I said, turning slightly toward the bed, “is my husband.Lucien Perez.You remember him, right?The so-called devil worshipper you sent me to spy on?”
A humorless laugh slipped out.“Turns out you were half right.He’s got a hell of a way of showing love.”
Lucien huffed a quiet chuckle.
“But he saved me,” I went on.“He showed me what real grace looks like.What it feels like to be seen and not judged.”
For a long, suspended moment, the only sound was the steady beep of the monitor.I started to step back — and then Daddy’s eyelids flickered.
“Lucien,” I whispered, frozen.
My father’s eyes opened.They were pale, almost watery, and for a split second, there was recognition there — of me, of him, of everything between us.
He blinked slowly, lips moving.It took effort, like the words were made of stone.
