The CEO’s Unspoken Love (Eleanor and Derek) novel Chapter 207

Chapter 207

Eleanor POV

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Snow tapped against the window like hesitant fingers, each flake melting into a droplet that slid down the glass. Boston in March

was stubborn that way-refusing to release its grip on winter even as the calendar insisted spring should be near.

I watched the heavy snowfall from my position in the corner of Derek’s hospital room, wrapping my cardigan tighter around my

shoulders.

Thirty-eight days. That’s how long it had been since the accident. Thirty-eight mornings of waking up in this same hospital room, in

the small cot the nurses had brought in after the first week when it became clear I wasn’t leaving. Thirty-eight days of watching

Derek’s chest rise and fall with mechanical precision, assisted by machines that had become as familiar to me as the sound of his

voice once was.

I stretched, feeling the pull of muscles that had grown accustomed to the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements. My shoulder, once

injured in the crash, now moved freely without pain-a bitter reminder that my body had healed while Derek remained unchanged.

The room was warm despite the frigid scene outside, the hospital’s heating system creating an artificial spring that felt almost cruel

in its deception. I slipped on my thick wool sweater anyway, a habit more than a necessity, and padded across the room to Derek’s

bedside.

My morning routine had become ritualistic. I checked each monitor, recording the numbers in a small leather-bound notebook I’d purchased specifically for this purpose. Blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen levels-I’d learned what each meant, had memorized Derek’s baseline numbers so thoroughly I could spot the slightest variation. The nurses had stopped explaining the readings to me

weeks ago, recognizing that I’d become fluent in the language of his condition.

With practiced movements, I dipped a soft cloth into the basin of warm water and gently wiped Derek’s face, taking care around the

feeding tube and the areas where the ventilator met his skin. Then I moved on to his arms and legs, carefully massaging each limb

as the physical therapist had shown me, to prevent muscle atrophy. The staff had taught me these routines, and I performed them diligently every day, speaking softly to Derek as I worked, unsure if he could hear me but unwilling to risk silence.

As I worked, my mind drifted to the difficult decision I’d made about my flower shop. Two weeks ago, I had signed the transfer

papers for Four Seasons Florals. The shop had been sitting largely untended while I spent my days at the hospital. When one of my

regular customers-a florist from Cambridge looking to expand-made an offer, I hadn’t hesitated.

Olivia had been stunned when I told her my decision. We’d been sitting in the hospital cafeteria, the fluorescent lights making her

concerned expression even more stark.

“You re sure you want to do this?” she had asked, her coffee untouched between us. “Eleanor, Derek might need… a long time.”

Id nodded, surprisingly at peace with my choice. “Four Seasons was my dream, but right now, Derek needs me more. And I need to

be here.

The decision had been easier than I expected. Between my savings and what I got for the shop, financial concerns weren’t pressing.

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Chapter 207

The Wells family had offered support, but I’d politely declined. Some boundaries still needed to remain.

The door opened, and Dr. Martin entered, his expression carefully neutral as always. He nodded to me in greeting, no longer

surprised by my presence or my involvement.

“Good morning, Eleanor. How is our patient today?”

I stepped back, allowing him space to conduct his examination. “His temperature was normal through the night. Blood pressure is

steady at 118 over 76.

Dr. Martin checked Derek’s pupils with a small flashlight, his movements efficient and practiced. I watched his face for any reaction,

any hint of change, but his professional mask revealed nothing.

“Any changes I should know about?” I asked, the same question I posed every morning.

“His vitals remain stable, Dr. Martin replied, the same answer he gave every day. “Which is positive.”

“But no signs of increased brain activity? No response to stimuli?”

The doctor hesitated, and in that pause lived all my fears. These things take time, Eleanor. The brain is… complex. Unpredictable.”

After he left, I sat beside Derek’s bed, holding his hand and remembering Catherine and Jonathan’s visit the previous week. It had

been their last visit before they’d returned to their regular routines, accepting the grim reality that Derek’s condition might be long-

term.

Catherine had looked older somehow, the usually impeccable woman showing signs of strain in the fine lines around her eyes and

mouth. She had stood at the foot of Derek’s bed, her fingers clutching her handbag so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

“Eleanor,” she had said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle, “Jonathan and I have been researching long-term care facilities.

There’s an excellent one in Cambridge with specialized neurological staff.”

I had felt my spine stiffen, my hand tightening around Derek’s. “No.”

“Eleanor, you can’t keep doing this-

“I promised I’d wait for him here,” I’d interrupted, my tone firm but not hostile. “This is where he first received treatment. This is

where he’ll wake up.”

1 Catherine hadn’t argued much after that. Perhaps even she was running out of fight. Jonathan had placed his hand on my shoulder

as they left, a wordless squeeze conveying what he couldn’t say aloud-that he was beginning to accept the possibility that Derek

might never wake up. I refused to join them in that acceptance.

Alexander was different. He visited every few days, bringing coffee from the café near Derek’s office-always remembering my

preference for hazelnut blend-and fresh clothes from my apartment. Unlike his parents, he never suggested moving Derek or spoke

of the future in terms of “if rather than “when.”

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During his last visit, he had stood by the window, watching the snow fall as I adjusted Derek’s blankets.

The doctors say there’s been no change,” he had said, not really a question.

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“No, I’d admitted. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be.”

Alexander had turned to me then, his expression serious. “If anyone can bring him back, Eleanor, it’s you.” The conviction in his voice had given me strength on days when my own began to falter.

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The CEO’s Unspoken Love