Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Foyer
Two days later, the hospital discharged me under strict orders of bed rest. Julian came to pick me up in his dark sedan, carrying my overnight duffel with quiet efficiency.
"Grant has been camping in the lobby since yesterday morning," Julian said as he pushed my wheelchair toward the private exit. "Security had to threaten him with a trespass warning to keep him off your floor."
"I don't want to see him," I replied, wrapping my trench coat tightly around my swollen stomach.
"He's outside your townhouse right now," Julian warned, glancing in the rearview mirror as we pulled onto Michigan Avenue. "His truck is parked across the driveway."
"Then we go in through the alley," I said. "I only need fifteen minutes."
When we arrived at the brownstone in Lincoln Park, Grant’s red pickup truck was indeed idling on the curb. But as soon as he saw Julian’s car turn into the rear garage, he sprinted down the narrow gangway.
"Lauren!" His voice bounced off the brick walls as I stepped out of the passenger seat.
He looked unraveled. His rescue uniform was replaced by wrinkled jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes.
"Step back, Whitaker," Julian barked, stepping between Grant and the back door. "You’re violating her boundary."
"This is my house, Julian!" Grant roared, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "And that is my wife carrying my daughter! Get out of my way!"
"It was your house," I said quietly, turning to face him.
Grant stopped dead in his tracks. The raw desperation on his face made my stomach twist, but I forced my gaze to remain completely level.
"Look at you," he whispered, his eyes falling to my belly. "You’re exhausted. You’re pale. Let me take you inside. Let me make you dinner, Lauren. I built the nursery. The crib arrived yesterday."
"Sadie sent me a text, Grant," I said, the words falling between us like dry ice.
His face shifted, guilt flashing across his features before he could mask it. "She... she called me to thank the squad. I told her not to contact you."
"She told me you were only trying to keep her from dying," I said. "She felt comfortable enough with my husband to apologize for him saving her life."
"She’s sick, Lauren!" Grant exploded, throwing his hands in the air. "She has an undiagnosed autonomic disorder! Her heart stops under extreme panic! You don't know the medical history I have with her!"
"That's exactly the point," I replied, stepping back toward the doorway. "You have a history with her. And when the walls were closing in, you remembered her history, not mine."
I pulled an envelope from Julian’s briefcase and held it out. Grant looked at the legal document as if it were coated in poison.
"Petition for dissolution of marriage," Julian announced formally. "We’ve also filed an emergency motion for temporary sole custody upon delivery, citing gross endangerment and abandonment."
"Abandonment?!" Grant shouted, his voice echoing through the alleyway so loudly a neighbor's dog began barking. "I pulled five people out of that shaft! I went back down for you, Lauren! The hoisting motor blew and the shaft sealed with smoke! I tried to get back in!"
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"After her," I whispered. "You went back for me after you made sure she was safe."
I stepped into the house and locked the deadbolt. Through the frosted glass, I could hear Grant banging his open palm against the wood, sobbing my name until Julian’s voice finally forced him away.
