Chapter 28 #2
In a field of blinding white light, the last thing I saw was Lucas's hands—covered in blood but still gripping the stretcher rail, refusing to let go.
Then darkness swallowed me like a wave.
When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling had changed. Not the blinding white of an operating room, but a soft beige. Curtains drawn, letting in a little gray light.
I blinked. My throat was dry as sand, my body heavy as lead.
Then memory came flooding back.
In a daze, I saw Vivian's hysterical face, like a demon crawling from hell, grinning maniacally.
My hand shot to my belly.
Flat.
It was flat.
Terror poured over me like ice water. I struggled to sit up, but my body wouldn't obey. Sharp pain shot through my lower abdomen, and I let out a muffled groan.
"Don't move."
Lucas's voice.
I turned my head. He sat in the chair beside the bed, practically sinking into it. He wore a loose long-sleeved loungewear set—unusual for him. His jaw was covered in stubble, his eyes bloodshot, his whole person haggard.
"Where's the baby?" My voice came out terribly hoarse. "Lucas, where's our baby?"
He froze, then stood and came to the bedside. His hand gripped mine, trembling slightly.
"Ella, don't get upset." He said. "The doctor said you just got past the critical stage, you can't—"
"Did the baby die?" Thunder crashed through my skull. I nearly passed out.
"Don't scare yourself, Ella." Lucas's words yanked me back to earth. "The baby came early. He's fine now."
I froze, afraid I'd misheard. "He's alive?"
"Yes, Ella. Because he's premature, he needs to stay in the incubator. But the doctor said his condition is stable. Once he gets through the next few days of the critical period, he'll be fine." He tightened his grip on my hand, his eyes burning with earnest intensity.
This kind of lie couldn't be fabricated. A baby was a living being. So the baby really was alive...
I went limp, like all the bones supporting me had been pulled out. But tears still spilled over—the urge to cry had been lodged in my throat, but this time they weren't tears of despair. They were tears of joy after surviving a catastrophe.
It was Lucas. With one sentence, he'd pulled me from hell back to heaven.
"A boy?"
Lucas nodded, smiling.
"I want to see him," my voice was garbled from crying. "Right now. I have to."
I tried to get up, but my body had no strength. Lucas saw my intention and immediately said, "I'll get a wheelchair. Wait for me."
He left the room, his footsteps nearly running. Minutes later, he returned, pushing a wheelchair, carefully lifting me, and setting me in it.
He was so attentive, even tucking a light blanket over my legs.
I looked at him in surprise, feeling Lucas had changed so much so suddenly.
He wheeled me out. The corridor was long and quiet, only our breathing and the wheelchair's rolling filling the space. The sky outside the windows was gray—impossible to tell if it was day or dusk.
I looked up at him. His profile was taut, his jawline sharp as a blade. But something in his eyes remained dim.
"Lucas." I grabbed the back of his hand.
He looked down at me, forcing a smile.
I stared into his eyes. "Are you keeping something from me?"
His footsteps faltered, then continued forward. But the wheelchair slowed, as if buying time.
I didn't rush him. I was giving him time to prepare. I was confident now—if I wanted to know, Lucas would tell me eventually.
When the sign for the neonatal ICU appeared at the end of the corridor, he suddenly stopped, came around in front of me, and dropped to one knee.
His hand took mine, pressing it to his lips for a kiss. The kiss was light, his stubble scraping my hand. I could clearly feel his lips trembling.
"These past two days, I kept thinking about something.
" His voice was barely audible. "When you were in the operating room, I stood outside that door and couldn't do a damn thing.
All I could do was beg God over and over.
If you could just live, I'd do anything.
But I also knew how pathetic that was. How weak. "
He looked up at me. His expression showed profound exhaustion and pain.
I'd never seen him like this. My throat felt gripped.
"I always thought I was so powerful. Thought I could control everything. I inherited Rockefeller smoothly, and even created more success than Grandfather. I thought I was invincible."
"Until that thin operating room door stood between us, and I realized how powerless I was." His Adam's apple bobbed as he made a choked sound. "I couldn't imagine... if something happened to you and the baby... how I could go on living..."
My tears fell without warning.
"Lucas." Beyond that, I didn't know what to say. Because whatever I said would be pale compared to life and death.
"So I swore—if you and the baby could just survive, I'd give up everything.
" His voice kept trembling but maintained clear articulation.
"If you don't want to live with me, I should respect that.
Give you freedom. I'll give you and the baby substantial support so you'll never worry about money again.
Whatever you want, whatever you need, as long as you're happy—even if it means leaving me, I'll accept it. "
I looked at him. His hair was messy, strands falling over his forehead, covering his eyebrows. I reached out to brush them aside.
But his expression suddenly showed panic, his head tilting back slightly.
I instantly read his micro-expression.
He thought I was pushing him away...
So I leaned closer, placing my palm on his hair. His thick, silky strands parted under my touch, revealing several white hairs gleaming silver under the dim lights.
"You have gray hair," I said.
He paused, seemingly not registering it, but quickly picked up the thread.
"Do I? Maybe I really am getting old."
My heart felt pricked by needles, a dull ache spreading. Lucas looked up at me from below. I couldn't bear to meet his eyes and looked away.
"Let's go see the baby."
"Okay," Lucas stood, resuming pushing the wheelchair. "Let's go see him now."
The neonatal ICU was at the end of the corridor. Two nurses in pink scrubs made rounds through the room. Seeing Lucas, they immediately came to open the door.
"Mr. Rockefeller," one said. "You're here again."
"My wife wants to see the baby," Lucas said.
"Of course." The nurse smiled. "Follow me."
She led us through a door into the ICU. It was very quiet inside, only the beeping of machines. Rows of incubators lined up neatly, each containing a tiny baby.
The nurse brought us to an incubator at the very back.
"This one," she said.
I saw him.
Our baby.
He was so small, small as a doll. His skin was translucent pink—I could see the delicate blood vessels beneath. His arms, legs, chest—all connected to various tubes and electrode patches.
But he was breathing. I could see his little chest rising and falling. Gentle but steady.
"He's very strong," the nurse said. "Only four pounds at birth, but all his indicators are improving. The doctor said in about six more weeks, he can move to the regular nursery."
I pressed my hand against the incubator glass. Through that transparent barrier, I looked at this tiny life. Though we were meeting for the first time, I felt strangely familiar with him. His face held traces of both Lucas and me. The feeling was truly miraculous.
Then he moved. A very slight movement—his little fingers curled. His eyelids fluttered as if trying to open, but only managed a crack before closing again, exhausted.
Those eyes were misty gray, like dawn sky. Like Lucas's eyes. Premature babies' retinas were still fragile, but I felt he could sense my presence. Because his mouth curved upward.
My tears fell again, unstoppable this time.
"He's smiling," I choked out. "Lucas, look, he's smiling at us."
Lucas pressed his hand against the glass too, right next to mine. His fingers overlapped mine, separated by a layer of glass, touching our child.
"He knows we're here." Lucas's voice trembled too. "Usually, he's asleep at this time. He must feel how much his mom and dad love him."
"You've been here constantly?" I asked.
"You were in the recovery room after surgery," he said. "I couldn't stay with you the whole time. So I came every two hours to make sure he was okay."
My heart felt squeezed tight.
I looked at the baby in the incubator, then at Lucas. This man, who could go months without coming home for his career, now checked on his child every two hours.
He'd truly kept the promise he made me on the phone. He could give up everything for family.
"This is our first time together as a family of three," I said softly.
Lucas looked at me, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"I want to give us a chance," I continued. "I think Mr. Rockefeller, Mrs. Hughes, and everyone else at the manor would love to see the baby, too."
He went completely rigid, as if not daring to believe what he'd heard.
"You mean..." His voice suddenly trembled wildly. "You're willing to come back to the manor? Willing to return to everyone?"
"Yes, Lucas," I smiled and nodded. "Didn't you say everyone misses me? I think... the past is past. I believe our future will be even better."
I wouldn't run from any of it anymore. I'd face the future with courage and optimism.
Lucas suddenly dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around my shoulders, burying his face behind my neck. His shoulders shook, and I felt warm moisture soaking through the hospital gown.
He was crying.
This man, who never showed weakness in public, who made ruthless decisions in boardrooms—he was crying like a child.
"Thank you," his voice was muffled. "Thank you for still believing in me. Thank you for giving me this chance."
My hand rested on his head, gently stroking his hair. Those few gray hairs slid between my fingers. I hoped the next time I touched his hair, those white strands would be gone.
I said, "When the baby's discharged, we'll go home to the manor together."
He looked up, face streaked with tears, but light in his eyes.
"Yes," he said. "Let's go home."
On the way back to the room, Lucas's steps grew lighter. We lingered together in the afternoon sunlight, our hands clasped tight. I felt peace and joy I'd never experienced before.
"What happened to Vivian?" I asked.
"She's been charged," he paused, but answered seriously. "Assault with intent to harm. Her lawyer wanted bail, but the judge denied it. She's in jail now, awaiting trial."
"How long will she get?"
"At least five years," he said. "If the prosecution can prove premeditation, could be longer."
I nodded, saying nothing more.
Vivian's madness destroyed her. She could have had a decent future—a good job, a real relationship. But she chose another path. A path to destruction.
"I don't hate her," I said.
Lucas stopped and looked at me.
"I just think it's sad," I continued. "She could have gotten so much through her own abilities. But she spent all her energy on a man who never belonged to her."
Lucas crouched down to eye level with me, his lips nearly touching my face.
"I'll never do anything again that could cause you to misunderstand." His warm breath hit my face, every pore expanding. "And I hope you'll always tell me what you're thinking. Everyone needs a mirror to reflect the mistakes they make unconsciously. We're each other's mirrors."
I smiled and kissed him softly.