Hope Never Died

2︱Curious Billionaire

The hospital is hectic the next day. Hectic is an understatement.

After all the procedures and surgeries, I'm exhausted and counting seconds to go home as I lazily check on the patients. Asking them quick questions and leaving for the next room.

I notice that Cory is there again as I stop in front of Mrs. LeBlanc's open door. She's sitting on the edge of her grandmother's bed, flipping through a folder and scribbling signatures wherever needed.

"You need to sleep," Margot LeBlanc is saying, her face set in a firm expression that has me admiring how quickly she was able to recover.

"I don't have time for that," her granddaughter brushes her off, glancing at her quickly.

"Did you go home last night?"

Silence.

Cory hesitates, her eyes stopping somewhere on the page, and the fingers that grip the folder twitch.

"I'm asking you, Cordelia."

Cordelia. That's her full name.

"I checked on Orion."

"But you didn't stay the night?"

"No."

Margot Leblanc seems like a scary woman.

I hastily knock on the door, drawing their attention. Alongside me, a nurse wheels a wheelchair inside.

"Good, Doc's here. You're getting out!" Cory says with extra pep that almost seems false. She gets to her feet and moves to take the chair from the nurse.

"I'm good. You go to Orion," says Mrs. LeBlanc, letting the nurse assist her into the wheelchair.

Cory's smile slips a little. "Gra—"

"Am I good to go, Doctor?" Mrs. LeBlanc asks me instead, drawing a smile.

"Yes, you need to sign some papers, though," I answer.

"Cordelia can do them," she says dismissively. "Is Neil outside, dear?"

Cory nods distractedly. "Yeah, he's waiting. Do you want me to take you?"

"I'm fine," mumbles Mrs. LeBlanc, letting Cory pull her coat on. She gives Cory a brief hug, then pulls back, nodding at me. "Thank you."

I nod and watch the nurse wheel her out.

Cory sighs and squeezes my arm as she walks out. Startled by the gesture, I raise my eyebrows, then follow her out.

"Do I have to read these?" she asks me tiredly when the receptionist hands her the papers.

"They state that your grandmother left this place with her full will during healing time and that the hospital isn't responsible if anything happens when she goes home; you can't sue them."

She frowns, then scribbles down her signature.

"You know, none of the doctors told me what's wrong with her," she muses as she walks toward a chair.

"She had a blocked artery," I mutter evasively as I look down at her.

She winces. "Does that mean she's dying?" she asks, her voice weighed with fear.

I hesitate briefly. Margot LeBlanc was crystal clear with her terms before the surgery. She doesn't want anyone outside of the staff to know that there's a chance that she could die because Ischemic heart disease causes dementia, and dementia's last stages never end well.

"No, no," I reassure her, the lie effortless on my tongue. "She's all right; just keep an eye out for her. Best not to leave her alone."

"We have maids and servants," she sighs out. "But I guess I should start spending more time there. Just in case."