ELIJAH'S POV
The waiting room clock moved like it was swimming through molasses. Three hours. Four. Five. I lost count after the first two. The plastic chair had molded itself to my body, leaving indentations that would probably stay for days. My coffee had gone cold hours ago, but I kept sipping it anyway. Bitter. Like everything else in my life lately.
The paparazzi had shown up around hour three. I could see them through the hospital windows, setting up their cameras like vultures waiting for fresh meat. Someone had leaked it already. Probably one of the paramedics or a nurse looking to make a quick buck. The story was probably already in the works. "Business Mogul's Wife in Critical Condition After Suicide Attempt."
