Chapter 6 - A Warm Hearth on a Cold DayThe private room at St. Brendan’s Hospital was vastly different from the chaotic emergency ward where Maeve had spent the night. Callum had quietly arranged for her transfer to a quiet, sunlit recovery wing overlooking the snowy Boston Public Garden.
When the door clicked open, Maeve was sitting up in bed, wearing a soft gray cardigan over her hospital gown, quietly reading a book with her uninjured hand.
She looked up, expecting a nurse or a doctor. Instead, she saw Callum Vale standing in the doorway, holding a small, elegantly wrapped white gift box tied with a silver ribbon.
“Mr. Vale,” Maeve said, setting her book down quickly and trying to smooth her hair. “You didn't need to come back. The doctor already said I’m cleared to leave this afternoon.”
Callum walked in, placing the small box gently on her bedside table before taking a seat in the chair beside her.
“Your apartment in South Boston has been inspected and secured, Maeve,” Callum said evenly. “Though I suspect you won't be staying there for a while.”
Maeve frowned, confused. “Sir?”
“Victor Sterling and his associates will not be bothering you—or anyone else in this city—ever again,” Callum explained, his tone completely matter-of-fact. “Your medical expenses have been fully covered, and your salary will continue uninterrupted during your recovery. Furthermore, my legal team has established a permanent trust to ensure your family’s security moving forward.”
Maeve stared at him, her eyes wide with astonishment. “Mr. Vale... I was just a housekeeper. You didn't have to do all of that for me.”
“You are not ‘just’ a housekeeper, Maeve,” Callum said quietly, leaning forward slightly. “For three years, you have kept my home running with a level of dedication and loyalty that money cannot buy. You noticed when I was working late, you remembered how I liked my tea, and when you were attacked on Christmas Eve, your first instinct wasn't to call the police or panic—it was to make sure my breakfast wasn't ruined.”
A tear welled up in Maeve’s eye, but she blinked it back, offering a small, grateful smile. “It’s my job.”
“It’s more than a job,” Callum replied gently. He reached out and tapped the small white gift box on the table. “Open it.”
Maeve used her good hand to untie the silver ribbon and lift the lid. Inside rested a vintage silver pocket watch, engraved on the back with a simple inscription: For loyalty that money cannot buy. C.V.
“I don't know what to say,” Maeve whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
May you like
“Say nothing,” Callum said, standing up and buttoning his black wool coat. He looked down at her with a warmth that very few people in Boston ever had the privilege of seeing. “Take all the time you need to heal, Maeve. The Beacon Hill estate can wait. But when you are ready to come back... the house won't feel right until you do.”
Maeve smiled, clutching the silver watch tightly in her hand as the morning sun poured through the hospital window, melting away the bitter cold of Christmas Eve once and for all.
