"Dr. Morrison," I called after him.
Joe turned, the warmth in his eyes instantly replaced by wariness.
In the empty corridor, he faced me, his tone serious: "Mr. Rockefeller."
"Somewhere we can talk privately?" I stared at him.
He looked at me, hesitation flickering in his eyes. He could've made an excuse—said he was busy, had patients to see. That would've made him a coward. But at least a smart coward.
He didn't.
"My office," he said.
In that moment, my respect for him increased slightly. So he wasn't someone who scared easily. Of course not. A timid man wouldn't dare set his sights on a Rockefeller's wife. He knew what I wanted to say, knew this wouldn't be pleasant, but he chose to face it anyway. That made things more interesting.
Joe's office was cramped, packed with thick medical journals and patient photos.
My gaze lingered on those photos. The patients smiled so genuinely. Joe stood beside them, his eyes full of pure kindness. Much as I hated this man, I had to admit—in some ways, Joe was a good person.
But good people don't always do good things.
"Sit." Joe gestured to an old chair. He didn't sit, instead leaning against the desk, arms crossed. Classic defensive posture.
I didn't sit. Standing in front of that messy desk, I had almost half a head on him. He had to look up at me.
"Let's make our positions crystal clear," I said bluntly. "Ella is my wife. Whatever fantasy you're entertaining, I'm not divorcing her."
Joe's jaw tightened. "Mr. Rockefeller, Ella is her own person. She has the right to make her own choices."
"Of course," I said coldly. "But you have no right to influence those choices. This is your third round today, Morrison. Maya's attending is Hawkins. You're just an intern. This isn't even in your job description." I leaned forward, hands planted on the desk. "Are you treating the patient or watching my wife?"
His face reddened, but his chin lifted higher. "I'm making sure the patient gets the best care."
"Don't treat me like one of your gullible patient families." I slammed the desk, the sound deafening. Nurses moved outside, but I didn't care. I hissed, "I know what you're thinking. I see how you look at her."
Joe's Adam's apple bobbed. His face suddenly hardened, tone resolute.
"Mr. Rockefeller, I'll be straight with you. I have zero interest in your marital status," he said. "All I know is she ran here with her sister. She's alone, her sister needs care, and even if I weren't pursuing her, as a friend, I can't stand watching her suffer like this. And the person responsible for all of it is you. If you had even a shred of feeling for her, you wouldn't keep forcing her like this!"
His words hit my chest.
I knew he was right. I'd driven Ella to this point, step by step. I'd left her alone in that cold manor in Manhattan, night after night. I wasn't there when she needed me. Whatever she did to me, I deserved it.
But... that was all in the past.
"She hasn't pushed me away," I said slowly, deliberately. "She's giving me another chance."
I said it to him, but it felt more like I was convincing myself. As long as Ella didn't definitively cut me off, I still had a shot at redemption.
Especially lately.
Every evening, the caregivers I hired took over Ella's shift. Ella would pack up her notebook and canvas bag and leave. She wouldn't call me, but she'd wait. She'd stand by the door, adjusting her strap, fixing her hair, doing every little delaying thing until I reached her side.
Then we'd leave the hospital together.
That short two-kilometer walk, just the two of us, stepping on fallen leaves, breath turning to white mist in the cold air.
We'd pass that discount supermarket. Once evening hit, it filled with housewives pushing carts and workers stocking up after shifts.
