When she opened them again, she’d made a decision. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, picking up the envelope. “Tomorrow morning, I’m coming with you to deliver breakfast. I need to meet this Mr. Whitmore myself, and we’re giving this back to him properly with thanks. Relief flooded Nia’s face.
Really, you’ll come? Really? Roelle confirmed, reaching across the table to squeeze her daughter’s hand. But no more accepting money or gifts without telling me first. Understood? Yes, mama. I promise. Meanwhile, across town in a sterile medical office, Elias Witmore sat perfectly still as his private physician, Dr.
Marcus Chen, reviewed the latest test results. The afternoon light cast long shadows across the polished hardwood floor of the consultation room, so different from standard hospital rooms, but carrying the same weight of significance. The timeline hasn’t changed, Elias, Dr. Chen said gently, setting down the tablet containing the scan results.
