Faking It With My Billionaire Husband

A new horizon

The hum of the hospital corridor, which moments before had felt distant, now seemed to fade into insignificance as Max and I walked back towards my mother’s room. His hand, still warm from holding mine, gave a silent promise of strength. The sterile scent of disinfectant, once oppressive, now mingled with a faint, almost imperceptible scent of hope.

We found my mother still sleeping peacefully. The older nurse, whose kind eyes had offered comfort earlier, was checking her IV. She looked up and smiled gently as we entered.

“Any news?” she asked, her voice hushed.

I took a deep breath, looking at Max before replying. “Yes, actually. We’re hoping to transfer her to a private care facility nearby, for her recovery. Max has found a wonderful place.”

The nurse’s eyebrows rose slightly, then she nodded approvingly. “That’s often an excellent choice for long-term care, especially after a critical period. It can make a world of difference for a patient’s well-being. We can start the paperwork for a medical transfer this afternoon, if you like. I’ll speak to Dr. Chen.”

Relief washed over me, a physical sensation that made my knees feel a little weak. “Thank you,” I whispered again, the words feeling utterly inadequate for the weight they carried.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of hushed conversations with doctors, paperwork, and calls. Max, true to his word, took charge of coordinating with the private facility, handling the financial aspects with a quiet efficiency that left me both awed and incredibly grateful. He’d step away to make calls, then return, his presence a steady anchor in the swirling uncertainty.

When my mother finally stirred later that morning, her eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on my face. A weak smile touched her lips.

“Alina,” she whispered, her voice raspy.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, leaning closer, stroking her hair. “Feeling a little better?”

She nodded, a small, tired movement. “Tired.” Her gaze drifted to Max, who was sitting quietly in the chair, a book open on his lap though he hadn’t been reading. “Max, dear.”

“Good morning,” he said, closing his book and offering her a gentle smile.

I explained our plan to her, speaking slowly and softly, emphasizing the comfort and personalized care she’d receive. At first, her brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of the independent spirit I knew so well. But as I continued, describing the peaceful environment Max had found, she seemed to relax.

“A change of scenery might be nice,” she murmured, a hint of her old wry humor returning. “As long as I can still have my tea in the mornings.”

A small laugh escaped me, light and genuine for the first time in days. “Of course, Mom. All the tea you want.”

The transfer itself, two days later, was a blur of careful movements and the quiet professionalism of the medical staff. Leaving the hospital felt like shedding a heavy burden. The air outside, though still city air, seemed fresher, lighter.

The private care facility, called 'Evergreen Haven,' was everything Max had promised. It wasn't a hospital; it felt more like a very upscale, comforting home. Sunlight streamed through large windows into a spacious common area filled with plants and comfortable armchairs. The scent wasn't antiseptic, but a faint, pleasant aroma of baking and fresh flowers.

My mother’s room was bright and airy, with a soft pastel color scheme, a comfortable bed, and a small sitting area. There was even a view of a small, manicured garden. A different nurse, younger and incredibly warm, introduced herself as Sarah and immediately made my mother feel at ease.

"Welcome to Evergreen Haven," Sarah said, adjusting a blanket. "We're so glad to have you. We'll get you settled, and then we can talk about your preferences for meals and activities."

Max stood by my side, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. I looked at him, my eyes welling up again, this time with an overwhelming sense of relief and sheer, profound gratitude. He had not just paid for a service; he had given us a sanctuary, a breath of fresh air when we were suffocating.

"It's perfect, Max," I whispered, barely able to speak around the lump in my throat.

He just squeezed my shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken thanks. "She deserves the best, Alina. And you deserve some peace of mind."

That evening, after my mother had begun to settle, resting comfortably in her new, softer bed, and Max had discreetly taken care of the last of the initial arrangements, we stepped out into the quiet twilight. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant jasmine.

"I don't know how to thank you," I said, leaning my head on his shoulder as we walked slowly towards the parking lot.

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. "You don't need to. Seeing your mom here, knowing she's in good hands, that's thanks enough." He paused, then added, "This is just the beginning, though. Recovery is a marathon, not a sprint."

I nodded, the initial euphoria tempered by the reality of the long road ahead. But as I looked up at the stars beginning to prick the darkening sky, I felt a strength I hadn't possessed just days ago. My mother was here, safe, and surrounded by care. Max was by my side, a steadfast beacon. And for the first time in a long while, the future, though still uncertain, didn't feel quite so daunting. We had found a new horizon, and we would face it together.

The quiet hum of the evening life around us seemed to echo the hope blooming within. As we reached the car, I paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, feeling the weight of the last few days lift slightly. Max unlocked the door, and I slid into the passenger seat, glancing back at the softly lit building that now housed my mother’s new beginning.

Driving away from Evergreen Haven, I couldn’t help but reflect on how far we’d come—through uncertainty, exhaustion, and a fragile hope that refused to fade. Max reached over, taking my hand in his again, his thumb gently stroking my knuckles.

“You know,” he said softly, “this isn’t just about the hospital or the care. It’s about us, too. Building something new from all this chaos. A new horizon, like you said.”

I looked at him, feeling a mixture of gratitude and a newfound sense of resolve. “It’s more than I could have hoped for. We’re finally moving forward—step by step, day by day.”

He smiled, offering me a quiet reassurance that no matter what lay ahead, we wouldn’t face it alone. The road stretched out before us, dark but promising. The city lights flickered past, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful.

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden flash of headlights appeared behind us—a blinding, relentless glare that cut through the night like a sword. Max’s grip on the wheel tightened instinctively as the headlights grew closer and closer, until they seemed to fill the entire windshield with blinding light, making it impossible to see the road ahead. An ear-shattering screech echoed through the night as Max desperately tried to brake, but the car skidded uncontrollably, spinning out of control.

And then everything went black.