Chapter 9 - The Choice That Changed the Moretti NameOne year after Roman Moretti entered St. Jude’s bleeding from 2 gunshot wounds, he returned through the same doors.
This time, no one screamed.
No armed men shoved a gurney.
No doctor grabbed Clara by the hair.
Roman wore a navy suit.
Clara wore a dark green dress.
They walked together.
St. Jude’s had changed.
Arthur Hemlock had resigned permanently after an investigation uncovered years of complaints from nurses and residents.
The hospital board had quietly changed its reporting procedures.
Roman had funded a new trauma nursing scholarship.
Clara had insisted his name not appear on it.
He agreed.
Mostly.
The plaque read:
FOR THE PEOPLE WHO RUN TOWARD THE WOUNDED WHEN EVERYONE ELSE RUNS AWAY.
Clara cried when she saw it.
“You did this.”
Roman slipped his hand into hers.
“We did.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You listened.”
That mattered more.
After the ceremony, they walked outside.
Snow had begun falling.
Roman led her toward the small courtyard.
“Where’s the car?”
“Waiting.”
“Then why are we outside?”
“I need 5 minutes.”
Clara became suspicious.
Roman Moretti never needed 5 minutes.
He needed 30 seconds or an entire evening.
Nothing between.
“Roman.”
He turned toward her.
Snow gathered in his dark hair.
Then he reached into his coat.
Clara’s heart stopped.
“No.”
Roman froze.
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’re reaching into the engagement-ring pocket.”
“There is no engagement-ring pocket.”
“That is absolutely an engagement-ring pocket.”
Roman sighed.
“You are ruining this.”
“I’m preventing you from giving me a heart attack.”
“You work in medicine.”
“That does not make heart attacks convenient.”
Roman laughed.
Then he took out a small black box.
Clara stared at it.
“I’m not asking you to become Mrs. Moretti.”
She blinked.
“That is traditionally the purpose of the box.”
“I’m asking you to remain Clara Jenkins.”
Her throat tightened.
Roman opened the box.
A simple diamond.
Elegant.
Not enormous.
He had learned.
“I’m asking whether you want to build something with me.”
His voice became quieter.
“Something that neither of us owns.”
Clara stared at him.
The first time he had called her his, she had felt trapped.
Now he was offering himself without ownership.
Without leverage.
Without debt.
Just choice.
“Roman.”
“Yes?”
“You’re not kneeling.”
He stared.
“You want me to kneel?”
“I suffered through an entire year of your personality. I deserve the full experience.”
Roman muttered something in Italian.
Then Roman Moretti lowered himself onto one knee in the snow.
Clara smiled.
“Better.”
“Clara Jenkins.”
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me before I develop pneumonia?”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
Roman blinked.
“What?”
“Yes.”
He stood so quickly that his healing side protested.
He winced.
Clara pointed.
“Careful.”
“I just got engaged.”
“That doesn’t repair scar tissue.”
Roman slipped the ring onto her finger.
Then he kissed her.
Snow fell around them.
Through the hospital windows, nurses watched.
Some applauded.
Leo stood near the entrance.
He pretended not to wipe his eye.
Clara saw him.
“I saw that!”
Leo immediately turned around.
May you like
Roman laughed against her mouth.
For once, the Moretti name was attached to something other than fear.
