Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
R uth sat stiffly in the oversized chair, the soft fabric pressing against her back. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, coffee, and something warm, like home, like comfort, but it did nothing to ease the nerves knotting inside her.
Her mother sat beside her, holding her hand, while Sophie hovered close, a quiet but steady presence. Across from her, Tristan, James, and Paul sat. Something was wrong. She could feel it in the way they hesitated, in the way no one had spoken yet.
Finally, Tristan exhaled. “Ruth, we want to go over your test results.”
She swallowed hard, gripping her mother’s hand tighter. “Okay.”
Tristan kept his voice gentle but firm. “Your bloodwork shows you’re seriously anemic. Your blood counts are very low.”
Ruth’s stomach dropped.
“We’re going to give you a couple units of blood and start you on high-dose vitamins,” he continued. “The good news is your CT scan didn’t show any obvious bleeds.”
Ruth exhaled, relief flickering in her chest until he kept talking. “We’re going to watch your numbers. If they hold steady, great. If not, we’ll need to do further testing to rule out underlying conditions, issues with absorption, a slow leak, bone marrow function, or any other medical cause.”
Ruth nodded slowly, trying to process everything. “So… the blood transfusion should help?”
Tristan gave her a reassuring squeeze on the knee. “Yes. You should start feeling a little stronger once your levels stabilize.”
She let that sink in. The constant exhaustion, the weakness that never seemed to leave her bones, maybe it wasn’t just from the injury. Maybe fixing this could help.
But there was still one question clawing at her. Her voice came out smaller than she intended. “And my brain?”
A heavy silence filled the room before James reached across the space, taking her other hand gently in his. “Ruth,” he said carefully, his voice the kind of soft that warned her she wasn’t going to like what came next. “Your CT is negative. No new bleeds, and there’s evidence of your major trauma healing. The swelling is now minimal.”
Something about the way he said it made her breath catch. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “What does that mean?”
James hesitated. Then, he explained, “It means we’re looking at a psychosomatic reaction.”
Ruth’s body stiffened. “No.” She shook her head immediately, her pulse speeding up. “No. That doesn’t make sense. There has to be something wrong. You just haven’t found it yet.”
Paul, ever the pragmatist, spoke up, his tone eerily similar to Noah’s when he was trying to get her to accept something she didn’t want to hear. “Ruth, listen to me.”
She turned toward the sound of his voice, gripping James’s hand like a lifeline.
Paul continued, his voice even but unwavering, “Sometimes, when the brain is protecting itself from something traumatic, it shuts down certain functions—functions it doesn’t want to access.”
She pulled her hand away, frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t see anything.”
No one argued. No one challenged her. That was worse. Ruth’s breathing grew uneven, panic clawing at the edges of her resolve. “You’re telling me I’ve just… locked myself in the dark? That I did this to myself?”
James spoke softly, “Not on purpose.”
Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. “That’s insane.”
Paul sighed. “Ruth, we don’t have to figure that part out yet. Right now, none of this matters until we deal with the anemia.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, that same unshakable calm Noah always used on her when she was spiraling. “You need energy,” Paul continued. “You need strength. And no matter what caused the blindness, you need to learn how to navigate your life without sight—at least for now. You’re not helpless, Ruth. And you’re not alone. But you need to meet this challenge head-on.”
The room went silent.
Ruth clenched her jaw, her breath unsteady, her hands shaking. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know how.”
Charlotte squeezed her hand. “Then let us help you.”
Sophie’s voice was soft but certain. “One step at a time, Ruthie.”
Ruth swallowed hard, her throat tight, but she nodded. As much as she wanted to fight, as much as she wanted to deny everything they were saying… she knew deep down they weren’t wrong.
Ruth lay back in the chair, feeling the warmth of her mother’s hand still wrapped around hers as she tried to breathe through the suffocating tightness in her chest.
She hated this.
She hated the way everyone was speaking to her like she was fragile, like she was one wrong word away from shattering. She hated the thought of her body betraying her, of her own mind turning against her.
But more than anything—she hated that Noah wasn’t here.
Her fingers twitched restlessly against the blanket draped over her lap. “Noah,” she whispered.
Her mom shifted beside her. “He’ll be back, sweetheart.”
Ruth swallowed hard. “How do you know?”
Her mother sighed, brushing a hand over Ruth’s forehead, the way she used to when Ruth was small and sick. “Because he always comes back to you.”
Ruth wished that was enough.
Paul cleared his throat from the other side of the room. “We’re going to start the transfusion now, Ruth. Just try to relax. The blood should help with the fatigue.”
She nodded numbly, feeling the pinch as the IV was inserted into her arm. The process was familiar—she had been stuck enough over the past few weeks—but something about this moment felt different.
Like time was running out.
She shifted again, pulling at the blanket as her mind drifted to Noah, to the last look on his face before the explosion, relaxed and teasing. “What if something happens to him?”
Tristan, who had been quiet, finally spoke. “Noah can handle himself.”
“That’s not the point,” Ruth argued. “I know he’s capable. I know he’s smart. But I also know he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t know when to pull back.” Her voice wavered. “What if this time, he doesn’t come back?”
Sophie moved closer, squeezing her shoulders gently. “He will.”
Ruth exhaled shakily. “You don’t know that.”
Her mom’s grip on her hand tightened. “No. But I believe it.”
Ruth wanted to believe it too, but… “Dad didn’t come back.” She heard Sophie sniffle.
The thought of Noah out there, chasing down Fairchild, diving headfirst into danger while she was stuck in this chair, too weak to even stand on her own—it was unbearable. She turned her head slightly. “How long will this take?”
Paul checked the line. “A couple of hours. We’ll monitor your vitals and make sure you tolerate the transfusion well. You’ll probably feel warmer, maybe a little lightheaded, but after a few days, you should start feeling stronger.”
A few days.
Noah didn’t have days.
Neither did she. She clenched her jaw, breathing through the frustration clawing at her ribs. “I just want to see him again.”
“You will,” Sophie whispered.
Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. And prayed that was true.