“I’m his father,” Peter said, jumping up.
“I’m his grandfather,” George rose.
“And I’m his brother,” Daniel added.
The doctor looked at them with surprise but said nothing.
“The crisis has passed. It was a cardiac event brought on by severe stress. But his heart… it’s very weak. Any major shock could be the last one. He needs absolute rest.” He looked at Peter. “You’ve been his primary physician since birth, right? You know his history better than I do.”
“Yes,” Peter nodded.
“Then you understand what I’m saying,” the young doctor sighed. “We’ve stabilized him, but the prognosis is guarded. He’s sleeping now, sedated. You can see him in the morning. One at a time.”
When the doctor left, Peter slowly sank back onto the bench. He was safe. For now. But what would happen next? How could he tell Michael that any emotional upset could kill him? How could they live with that knowledge?
“I need to talk to him,” Daniel said.
Peter and George looked at him.
“No,” Peter said firmly. “He can’t have any agitation.”
“I won’t agitate him,” Daniel replied just as firmly. “I just… I need to see him. Alone.”
The next morning, when they were allowed into the room, Michael was awake. He lay staring at the ceiling, his face devoid of emotion. He looked like a porcelain doll.
“Hey,” Daniel said, entering the room quietly.
George and Peter remained in the hallway. Michael slowly turned his head. He looked at his brother without surprise, without fear, with a kind of detached weariness.
“Hey,” he replied.
Daniel walked over and sat in the chair by the bed. He didn’t know what to say. All the prepared words, all the accusations and questions, suddenly seemed out of place.
“How are you feeling?” he asked lamely.
“I’ll live,” Michael smirked with just his lips. “For now.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Daniel winced.
They sat in silence for a moment.
“I saw your drawings,” Daniel said. “That portrait… You’re really talented.”
“Thanks,” Michael replied indifferently.
“Listen…” Daniel leaned forward. “I… I don’t know what to say. I’m angry, I’m furious. But when I saw you on the floor last night… I was scared. Scared I was going to lose you before I even got to know you.”
Michael was silent.
“I want you to know,” Daniel continued, “no matter what happens, you’ve got me. A brother. A real one. And a grandfather. We’re your family.”
Michael slowly turned his gaze to him.
“And him?” he asked quietly.
“Who?”
“Him…” Michael hesitated.
“He’s the man who saved your life. And who loves you very much.”
Michael turned to face the window.
“I don’t know who to hate more,” he said. “Him, for lying to me my whole life. Or myself, because I think I still love him.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks again. Daniel awkwardly reached out and touched his shoulder. He wasn’t good at comforting people, at finding the right words. He was just there. And in that moment, in that sterile hospital room, between two brothers who hadn’t known of each other’s existence the day before, the first fragile sprout of a real bond was born.
The next few days settled into a strange, tense truce. Michael remained in the hospital under observation. Peter, using his old connections, arranged for him to have a private room and the best care. He came every day but didn’t go inside, just stood silently in the hallway, getting brief updates on his son’s condition from the doctors. He was afraid. Afraid to face Michael. Afraid to see judgment in his eyes, or worse, indifference.
George and Daniel were there too. They had checked into a nearby hotel and spent their days at the hospital. Daniel was with Michael most of the time. He brought him books, told him about his life, about sports, friends, college. He talked a lot, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes too loudly, as if trying to fill the void that had formed between them over eighteen years. Michael was mostly quiet, but he listened. He listened intently, and sometimes a faint shadow of a smile would appear on his lips.
He was discovering, with surprise, this other world—the world of a healthy, self-assured young man whose life was so different from his own. And in this world, there was a place for him too. He wasn’t just “Michael Wallace, the doctor’s adopted son.” He was Michael Coleman, Daniel’s brother, George’s grandson. This new identity was both frightening and alluring.
One day, as Daniel was once again talking about his basketball practice, Michael interrupted him.
“Will you… will you draw me?”
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