Chapter 24 #2
My knees give, but Christian catches me. I cling to him, sobbing. Relief mixes with lingering fear, tangling into something overwhelming.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He strokes my back gently. “He’s in the best hands—.”
Nate starts to convulse. His body shakes violently. Chris rushes to him. “Nurse!” he shouts as staff floods the room.
“Ma’am, we need you to leave.” A nurse pushes me back, out the door, closing it in my face.
I’m left in the hallway, heart in pieces, tears streaking my face.
I pace back and forth like a caged animal, my boots thudding softly against the polished floor as Christian heads down the hall.
The expression on his face—it wasn’t just professional concern.
It was personal. Worry was etched into every line of his jaw, every furrow of his brow.
That’s when I knew this wasn’t over. Not even close.
He returns a few minutes later, eyes heavy with the weight of what he’s about to say.
“Isabel,” he says gently, his voice laced with that same compassion I remember from our uni days. “They told me… they need your signature to extract the fragment.”
My entire body stills. “Signature? Like a permission?” My mouth is dry, tongue thick in my throat. “What for?”
He hesitates, eyes darting to the closed door behind me like the truth is hiding in the shadows. “The operation is… very delicate. The splinter is lodged near his spinal cord. There’s a sixty percent success rate. But if it fails, Isabel, he may be paralyzed.”
My knees threaten to buckle. “Oh my God…” I whisper, the words barely escaping. I grip the wall for balance, the cold tile anchoring me to reality. “And if I refuse? If I say no?”
Christian steps closer, lowering his voice like he’s afraid the truth might shatter me.
“The splinter’s already causing damage. His vitals spiked before the seizure, and we’re starting to see neurological reactions.
If we don’t remove it, the seizures will continue—more violent each time.
Honestly, Isabel, I don’t know how much more his heart can take. ”
My lungs compress like iron hands are squeezing the breath from my chest. “So I have to choose…” My voice cracks. “I have to choose whether to let my husband die or possibly condemn him to a wheelchair for the rest of his life?”
“I know it’s brutal,” he says, pain flickering in his gaze. “But this isn’t just a risk. It’s also a chance. A real one.”
A chance. A gamble. On Nate’s life. On our future.
He’ll hate me if I choose wrong.
But if I don’t choose at all… he’ll die.
Tears burn my eyes. I nod once. “Where do I have to sign?”
Christian pulls out the form. I can barely see the words through the flood building behind my lashes. My hand trembles as I scrawl my name across the page. One signature. That’s all it takes to decide a life.
Christian squeezes my shoulder before giving the order to prep Nate for surgery. The moment he’s out of sight, the silence makes me feel like I’m underwater, screaming, and no one can hear.
I pull out my phone, dreading the next step.
I call Nate’s parents first.
Grace answers after two rings. The second I say his name, she bursts into uncontrollable sobs, her voice shaking as she says they’ll catch the first flight back. Gabriel takes the phone next, his voice steady but broken. “We’re coming. Stay strong, Isabel.”
Then my father. Always composed, always calm. But today, he sounds older. Tired. “Don’t panic. I’ll be there soon.”
I text Alice next—short, direct.
Me: Surgery. Emergency. I’ll update you after.
Alice: I’m on my way.
Cindy’s name flashes on my screen. Missed call after missed call. CJ must’ve told her. My heart clenches—I know she means well, but I can’t deal with her voice right now. Not her questions. Not her sympathy. I type a quick apology.
Me: Can’t talk now. I’ll call you when I can.
I drop the phone on the chair beside me, and suddenly, the hospital feels too bright. Too cold. Too sterile for a moment like this.
I glance around the waiting room—soulless chairs, white lights, quiet whispers of other lives in limbo. I blink fast, trying to hold it together. But the pressure inside me is a dam cracking open. I can’t breathe.
The fluorescent lights above me hum like a warning, steady and sterile. Everything in this hospital feels wrong.
Too clean.
Too bright.
Too silent.
It smells like bleach and grief.
I’ve been sitting in the same stiff chair for hours, watching doctors walk past like they’re moving in slow motion, none of them stopping to say he’s okay.
None of them look at me like they know he’s going to wake up.
My hands are shaking. My stomach is a pit of acid.
I can’t breathe. I can’t sit still.
I can’t cry.
If I cry, I’ll come undone. If I fall apart, he might too.
A tear slips down my cheek. I swipe at it viciously. I’m not losing him. Not like this.
Not when I found someone that means the world to me.
I pull out my phone with numb fingers, my contacts blurring through tears I refuse to blink away.
There’s only one name I can tap.
Sebastian.
His name pulses on the screen as it rings, and rings—until finally:
“Hello?” His voice is raspy. Groggy. Barely awake.
“Sebastian.” Just saying it cracks something wide open in me.
“Isabel?” A beat. He hears it. Hears the storm behind my voice. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Nathan.” My breath shakes. “He—he’s been flown to a hospital in Germany. There’s… there’s a fragment lodged near his spine.”
I press my hand over my mouth to hold the sob in.
“He was stable. But now he’s not. He went into surgery again now and I just—” My voice shatters. “I can’t do this alone, Sebastian. I…I...”
Silence on the other end.
“Jesus,” Sebastian mutters under his breath. Sheets rustle, drawers open. He’s already moving.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” I admit, voice cracking. “They’re telling me nothing, and I—” I choke. “I’m so scared, Sebastian. What if I don’t get to tell him again? What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“Hey,” he says in a firm and deep voice. “You will tell him again. Because he’s waking up. You hear me?”
“They said he’s still breathing, but they don’t know what will happen next. They don’t know if he’ll ever walk again, or talk, or—god, what if he doesn’t wake up at all?”
Sebastian’s voice cuts through like a blade. Low. Steady. Fierce. “He’s Nate, Isabel. You think a piece of metal and bad luck can stop him?”
His voice is steel now. Royal command, born of fire and diplomacy. But there's warmth under it, too. The kind that holds people together. “I’m getting on the jet,” he says. “Give me the name of the hospital. I’ll be there before sunrise.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do,” he cuts in. “He’s my best friend. And you—” A pause. Softer. “You’re not just someone to him anymore. You’re family.”
The word breaks me.
Family.
I nod, though he can’t see it. “Okay. Okay.”
“Text me the address,” Sebastian says. “You’re not doing this alone, Isabel. Not for one more second.”
I press the phone to my chest after the call ends, letting the heat of his promise sink in.
My throat tightens.
I rush to the bathroom, barely making it in time before I vomit everything I’ve been holding in. Fear. Grief. Exhaustion. It all spills out in ugly, broken gasps.
I rinse my mouth and stare into the mirror. A pale stranger looks back at me. Her eyes are wild. Her cheeks are stained with tears. Her heart? Shattered.
“It’s going to be okay, Izzy,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror. “Regardless of what happens in that operating room… he’s alive. And that’s what counts.”
I nod at my reflection like if I do it hard enough, the universe will believe me.
I splash water on my face, trying to wash away the ache in my chest. But it lingers. A hollow, twisting thing that refuses to leave.
When I return to the waiting room, I’m met with the same sterile quiet.
I can’t sit still.
I pace.
One step. Breathe.
Another. Breathe again.
He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
I chant it silently, over and over, like a prayer to the gods I stopped believing in long ago.
Please. Let him come back to me.
I don’t care if he walks or not. I just need him alive. I need him to fight—for us. For the life we were finally building after so many years apart.
I pause, staring at the OR doors.
Nate, be strong. Be stronger than you’ve ever been. And come back to me.