“He had emergency surgery when he arrived,” Christian says, eyes scanning the pages quickly. “There were nine fragments in his back. He’s stable now, though they left one piece in—too risky to remove. He’s just sedated. But Isabel… he’s okay. You hear me? He’s okay.”
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.
