That Child Is My Son Under The Full Moon On The Dark Muddy Riverbank

The private recovery suite on the top floor of the city hospital was quiet, bathed in the soft blue glow of the midnight skyline through the double-paned glass. Gideon sat propped up against the hospital pillows, his left shoulder heavily bandaged where the surgeons had stitched up the deep laceration from the garage scuffle. The sharp, clinical scent of antiseptic hung in the air, but the room felt warmer than the sterile penthouse.

I sat in the vinyl armchair beside the bed, carefully stirring a ceramic bowl of broth before lifting a spoonful toward his lips. Gideon stared at me for a long moment, a faint, exhausted smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, before obediently accepting the spoon.

"You didn't have to jump in front of the gun, you know," I murmured, setting the bowl down on the bedside tray and wiping my hands on a napkin. "The police were already fifty yards away."

"You think I spent five years looking for a ghost just to let some coward take you away in a parking garage?" Gideon's voice was raspy, but his gaze was steady and unwavering. He reached out with his uninjured right hand, his fingers tangling gently with mine. "I spent my whole life believing power and control could protect the people I love. I was wrong. The only thing that protects us is honesty."

"It's a hard lesson to learn at forty," I said, a soft, genuine smile breaking across my face as I squeezed his hand back.

"I'm a slow learner," he admitted, shifting slightly against the pillows with a wince. "Where's Noah?"

"Asleep on the sofa bed in the adjoining room," I said, leaning closer. "He drew a picture before he crashed. Three stick figures standing by a river under a giant moon. He didn't put any cars or bodyguards in it."

Gideon closed his eyes, exhaling a long, ragged breath that seemed to shed the last remnants of his corporate armor. "Good. No more walls, Hannah. I mean it. No more secrets, no more hiding behind glass doors."

The door swung open silently, and Noah padded into the room in his oversized pajamas, rubbing his eyes with one hand while clutching his colored-pencil drawing in the other. He stopped at the edge of Gideon's bed, looking up at the bandages with solemn, quiet concern.