He cuts the engine and turns to me, expression serious. “I want to be wherever you are. And I want to meet the woman who raised you.”
The simple sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. I nod, unable to speak.
The hospital corridors are adorned with modest Christmas decorations—garlands along the nurses’ station, a small tree in the waiting area. The holiday cheer feels forced against the backdrop of antiseptic smells and beeping machines, but I appreciate the effort.
Outside Mom’s room, I pause. “She’s been really sick for a long time. The treatments make her tired, and she’s lost a lot of weight. Just ... be prepared if she’s not that nice.”
Ronan’s hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with mine. “I understand.”
I take a deep breath and push the door open. “Mom? I brought someone to meet you.”
Mom sits propped against pillows. Her face lights up when she sees me, then her gaze shifts to Ronan. Her eyes widen slightly.
“Well,” she says, her voice soft but amused. “This is unexpected.”
I move to her bedside, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Mom, this is Ronan Ward. Ronan, this is my mother, Elena.”
Ronan approaches, his usual commanding presence somehow gentled. He takes my mother’s frail hand in his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva. Rayne speaks very highly of you.”
“Elena, please.” Mom’s eyes are shrewd as they take in Ronan’s expensive watch, the cut of his casual but clearly designer clothes. Then they flick to our joined hands, and a smile curves her lips. “So you’re the reason my daughter is glowing today.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Mom!”
“What? A mother notices these things, and I’m too old to keep my thoughts to myself.” She pats the chair beside her bed. “Sit, both of you. What do you do, Ronan?"
“I run an investment firm.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “Boring stuff, really.”
“He’s being modest,” I interject. “He’s actually quite successful.”
“I can see that,” Mom says dryly, glancing again at his watch. Then her expression softens. “But success isn’t everything. Are you kind to my daughter? Do you treat her well?”
“Mom,” I protest weakly.
“It’s a fair question,” Ronan says. “I try to be. I want to be. She deserves nothing less.”
Mom studies him for a long moment, then nods, apparently satisfied. “Good. Rayne gives everything to others. She needs someone who gives back.”
“I’m right here,” I remind them, but I can’t help smiling.
The conversation flows surprisingly easily after that. Ronan sits comfortably at my mother’s bedside, asking about hertreatments, telling her stories that make her laugh. When he mentions his son, Ryan, Mom beams.
“A little boy! How wonderful. I must meet him when I get home next time.”
Next time. The casual assumption that there will be a next time makes my heart squeeze.
“I’d like that,” Ronan says, and I can tell he means it.
I watch them together, this billionaire tycoon and my sick mother, chatting like old friends. He’s not doing this out of obligation or pity. He’s genuinely engaged, asking about her favorite Christmas traditions, teasing me when Mom reveals embarrassing childhood stories.
Something cracks open in my chest—a door I’ve kept firmly closed. For the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t temporary.
When Mom begins to tire, I notice immediately. “We should let you rest.”
She squeezes my hand. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
“Of course.” I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.” Her gaze shifts to Ronan. “It was lovely meeting you, Ronan.”
