FIVE

NO WORDS could begin to depict what Doris was feeling at the moment, seated at one of the tables at Le Bistro Chabots, awaiting anxiously for Brad to walk in.

Le Bistro Chabot was a sight to behold, with its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and plush velvet upholstery. The dark wood floors and paneling gave the restaurant a timeless elegance, while the large windows overlooking the Parisian streets added a touch of modernity. The tables were adorned with crisp white linens and sparkling crystal, and the waiters bustled about in neat uniforms. The atmosphere was one of sophistication and refinement, with the gentle buzz of conversation and the soft clink of silverware on china adding to the ambiance.

But the true beauty of Le Bistro Chabot was in the details. The art on the walls was carefully curated, and the flowers on each table were perfectly arranged. The crystal glasses sparkled in the candlelight, and the wine list was filled with the finest vintages. But perhaps the most striking feature of the restaurant was the view. From every table, one could see the vibrant city's nightlife and the Eiffel Tower in all its glory, a testament to the beauty and romance of Paris.

She had arrived early. Thirty minutes early to be precise.

There was no one as punctual as Brad was. She didn't want to give him another reason to add to his list of why he thought she wasn't fit to be more than a sex partner.

Was she trying to impress him?

Hell, yeah!

Otherwise, why had she gotten out of the way. . . for strenuous hours to pick out this fabulous bespoke silk dress and accessories just to look good?

Doris knew that the last thing she should be thinking of was to impress him. In fact, she should be loathing him as most women would in her shoes, especially after how they'd ended things. But she would be lying to herself if she said she didn't wish to get back together with him. So, what was the point of pretending?

But, this time around, she made a mental note not to get ahead of herself like she'd done on that painful night, four years ago. A memory that persisted to dominate in her archive of depressing memories.

Back then, she'd been so dissatisfied with the label they'd given their relationship and was eager to move beyond that.

She had convinced herself it was a feeling he similarly shared. Especially, after all those hot, erotic nights. . . and days they spent, rocking each other to a universe only they were acclimated to.

She'd made all the arrangements. From the perfect place to the hand-written love letter to the well-rehearsed confession speech, and the little other surprise news.

She'd wagered everything that night.

But. . . she'd been extremely wrong about his feelings toward her. She'd confused lust for love.

She could never forget the look on his face when he'd told her he didn't love her the way she wanted him to and he didn't think he ever would.

The punch she felt from that single statement had left her breathless, but still, she'd tried her damnedest to pull a brave front, not to be shaken and accept the fact he didn't reciprocate her feelings. She had been ready to stay just as they were as long as she had the opportunity to meet him every day.

But Brad being Brad—never wanting to be caught up in an awkward situation, knowing too well that they would never go back to how they were not after her grand proposal—had suggested they'd ended it there and then. . . on the same day, she'd proposed.

Talk about being ruthless!

Anyway, lesson learned and never to be repeated.

She wasn't here to declare her undying love to him, she was here to deliver the last piece of information she hadn't been opportuned to give him four years ago before he slapped his rejection and breakup on her face.

She fetched her phone in her small clutch purse and checked the time. It was already two hours past the time they had agreed to meet up.

What was taking him so long? What happened to "Punctual Brad"?

She couldn't wait longer than this. She had other priorities she had to look into.

One more hour. . . That was all she could give him before she felt this place.

Evelyn looked around, scanning the area. She'd noticed the table that was next to hers which initially had been occupied by a family of four when she'd arrived was reoccupied by a young couple celebrating their marriage anniversary and now reoccupied by a man preparing to engage his girlfriend.

The sweet uniformed waiter had approached her more than once, asking if she was ready to be served her entrée, but she'd given him the same answer as previously.

Two hours later Brad was still nowhere to be found. . .

As she rode back home disheartened, it dawned on her that she'd been stood up.

Safely parking the airport rental car at the hospital's parking space, Brad alighted the car and made it into the hospital.

After making inquiries with the nurses at the reception desk, he scurried blindly through patients and hospital personnel heading straight to his daughter's room.

His chest heaved in shallow, rapid breaths and his heart palpitated with dread. All he was concerned about was the moment was his daughter, Nora.

He'd gotten on the first flight to LA when he'd received the call she'd been taken to the hospital.

When he got to the door, leading to her room, he hesitated, placing his hand on the handle. He heaved a sigh, struggling to collect himself. He didn't want to add more stress to his daughter by acting hysterically. Then gradually, he opened the door and stepped in.

Mrs. Hopkins, Brad's housekeeper, climbed to her feet instantaneously from the bedside chair as she noticed him.

He walked toward his daughter's bed where she was lying down, faced up. Her left leg was wrapped in bandages and some parts of her forehead and temple had band-aids adhered to them.

The coldness of dismay clawed at his gut, ripping it from within as he sat at the edge of Nora's bed. Watching her pale lips pucker and tremble even in her sleep, tugged his heart in an extremely unpleasant and painful way.

Brad sighed, planting a kiss on her forehead. "What exactly happened?" He muttered to Mrs. Hopkins, still watching his daughter.

"She had another seizure," Mrs. Hopkins said ruefully. "Unfortunately, she was coming down the stairs..."

She trailed off as if she couldn't bear to recount the disturbing incident that had occurred.

Brad, on the other hand, paled below the healthy bronze of his complexion. He didn't even need to hear her unspoken words to know what had happened.

Nora had been diagnosed with Tonic-clonic Epilepsy when she was barely two and had struggled with the condition ever since. With treatment, she had experienced periods of being seizure-free for months and even years at a time. But, as she grew older, especially this couple of recent years, the frequency of her seizures began to occur more often than usual, and Brad was growing increasingly concerned about her well-being.

He'd watched her struggle with the physical and emotional effects of the seizures, and what he'd feared the most about her future was already beginning to happen.

Nora's condition made it difficult for her to participate in normal childhood activities. She was mostly isolated and felt anxious about the erratic nature of her condition.

He could not even begin to imagine how distressing it was for her.

His once vibrant and lively little princess, full of energy and curiosity who was always eager to engage with anyone, whether it was family, friends, or strangers she met in public was now withdrawn and cautious, her enthusiasm and joy replaced by fear and anxiety. It was heartbreaking for him to see the change in his daughter, to witness the way her spark had dimmed.

There was nothing he longed for than to see her smile and laugh as she had done so easily in the past.

He was committed to doing everything he could to help her, but sometimes he felt powerless against the unpredictable nature of her condition.

Most especially, he was unsure if her frequent attacks had taken a toll on her personality or if her personality change had prompted the frequent attacks.

"Her ankle ligament got torn. The doctor said she needed a cast for now to prevent it from getting worse," Mrs. Hopkins continued. "She was also given some shots and shock wave therapy. I think she'd be okay by the time she wakes up."

Speaking of waking up, Nora wriggled in the bed and fluttered her drowsy eyes open. Her eyes became clearer when she saw her father. "Dad...?"

"Yes, sweetie. Dad's here." Brad focused his undivided attention on her immediately as he stroked her hair, carefully avoiding her facial injuries. "How do you feel? Do you feel pains anywhere else?"

Nora's forehead wrinkled. She drew in a deep breath and let it out as if she was checking for any indication of pain. "Apart from my leg and face, I'm good," she muttered blandly. "Did you not have a case in Paris? When did you get here?"

He flashed her a smile. "What matters is I'm here. . . and you're okay," he responded, tickling her ribs and causing her to erupt in heartily giggles, wiggling uncontrollably like a worm.

Nora was his life. His world. And he didn't know what he'd do if anything ever happened to her.

Way before the sun completely set over the city of Los Angeles, they were already home. After he was done with his last "Daddy Duty" of the day which was tucking Nora in, Brad yawned and staggered to his own room.

The day had been filled with anxiety and worry, but now he could find a moment of peace. He looked out the window and noticed that the glow of the sunset had given way to the twinkling lights of the city.

He yawned again, exhausted. He realized his entire attention had been solely fixated on his daughter throughout the day, and he didn't even notice if he was jet-lagged or not.

Now it was hitting him hard like a sledgehammer.

Groaning, he collapsed on his bed... and almost immediately, jerked up.

His expression squeezed tight, remembering that he was supposed to meet up with Doris in Paris.

Damn!

He'd even be so preoccupied he'd forgotten to even give her a call. He jumped out of his bed, found his briefcase, and began to search for the business card she'd given.

After a few minutes of digging through his briefcase, he figured he'd misplaced the card.

He shrugged and plopped right back on his bed, burying his face in the cloudy pillow.

Probably, he thought, it was for the best for both of them.