A Grandmother's Conditions

Damien Thorne raced through the hospital corridors, his usual composed demeanor replaced by visible concern. The call about his grandmother's fall had reached him during an important meeting, but he'd left immediately. Eleanor Thorne was one of the few people who could make the powerful CEO drop everything without hesitation.

Dr. Morris greeted him outside the private room. "Mr. Thorne, your grandmother has a fractured femur. She's stable but will need surgery tomorrow morning."

"How did this happen?" Damien asked, his voice tense.

"She fell in her garden. Fortunately, her housekeeper found her quickly."

Damien nodded curtly. "May I see her now?"

"Of course. She's been asking for you."

When Damien entered the room, he found Eleanor propped up against pillows, looking smaller than he remembered. Despite her eighty-two years, Eleanor Thorne normally commanded any room she occupied. Today, however, the hospital bed seemed to dwarf her.