Chapter 8

[Elara]

I stare at the phone, Hannah’s words replaying like a broken record in my mind. Did Damon actually… sleep with her? Or was she lying? It doesn’t matter now.

Cora—his daughter, his own blood is fighting for her life, and he can’t even be bothered to check in.

My chest clenches at the irony.

Tears sting my eyes as I kneel beside her bed. “You deserve so much more than this. A happy home. A caring father. Loving grandparents…” I kiss the back of her tiny hand. “I thought as long as Damon cared for you, nothing else mattered. But I’m so disappointed right now… so damn disappointed.”

Gwen enters quietly, her eyes full of sympathy. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. You don’t need to stay.”

“Well, I don’t have parents, so I might as well stay,” she admits softly.

I freeze at what she just admitted and snap my head to face her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

She smiles, but it’s a sad one. “You didn’t know because I never told you. I don’t like talking about them.”

I manage a weak chuckle, though tears blur my vision. “I love her so much. But I’m terrified…”

Before I can dwell further, a team of nurses and doctors arrives.  “We need to prepare the patient for surgery. Please step out for a while.” one says.

Wait. So soon?

“Weren’t we supposed to wait until morning?” I ask, confused and a little desperate for answers. “Dr. Wilson talked about a heart specialist he invited. Shouldn’t we wait for them? What’s the rush?”

“Oh, he won’t be coming,” one of the residents says, and I freeze, already panicking.

“Why? Did he refuse to operate? Is it about money? We can pay more if that’s what he wants.” Damon did promise to provide for everything that might be needed.

I grab my phone, already dialing Jordan—his assistant.

“No need,” the resident replies. “Dr. Wolfe is here. “According to Dr. Wilson, he has far more expertise than Dr. Timber. He might even be the best in the world.”

I blink, trying to process. Gwen squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me. She’s in safe hands.”

I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. The fear is still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind, but it’s quieter now.

The nurses start moving faster, preparing Cora for surgery, and I step back reluctantly. My heart wants to follow her into the operating room—to hold her hand, never to let go—but I know I can’t.

Gwen and I settle onto the bench outside, waiting. I already texted Damon about the urgent surgery, but as usual, he doesn’t even check. I leave the same messages for his assistant and get a surprisingly quick response.

If only Damon were that considerate.

An hour later, when Cora is finally being wheeled into the OR, I hold her hand and kiss her forehead.

“Be brave for Mommy, okay, baby? I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Don’t you dare give up on me. You remember how you always talked about the world’s biggest amusement park? The one with the giant Ferris wheel and the cotton candy that’s bigger than your face?” I let out a shaky breath, forcing a smile through the tears. “If you pull through this—when you pull through this—Mommy will take you there. We’ll go together, I promise. Just… come back to me, Cora. Please, baby. Just come back.”

As they wheel her away, my knees almost give out, my head spinning.

“Careful!”

But before I hit the floor, a pair of strong arms catches me from behind, holding me upright—pressing me against something solid and warm.

I don’t even care. My eyes stay fixed on Cora as she’s wheeled inside. “Please, God. Take anything from me—everything, if you have to. Just don’t take her.”

When the doors finally close, it’s like the air leaves my lungs. My knees buckle, my strength slipping away. But I still don’t fall.

Something—or rather, someone—keeps me steady. I turn, blinking through the blur of tears, and find myself staring into the most curious eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Careful,” the man says again, his voice low and steady as he helps me sit on the bench outside the OT. With most of his face hidden behind a surgical mask, I can’t make out his features, but there’s something about his presence—calm, assured—that instantly makes me feel a tad less anxious.

He takes out a small torch and gently tilts my chin up to check my eyes. I’m too drained to protest, too numb to care.

Once he’s done, he straightens, his tone quiet but firm. “The surgery will take at least five hours. Don’t starve yourself.”

And just like that, he turns and walks away—his scrubs identical to the rest of the doctors who went inside.

I realize he must be one of the doctors from the new team Damon arranged for Cora. But those eyes… they seemed so much younger. Perhaps he’s just a resident assisting with the surgery.

“Mrs. Blackwood,” Gwen’s voice pulls me back. She appears by my side, holding out a small packet. “Here. I brought you some sandwiches.”

Despite everything I said to make her go home, she still chose to stay. I don’t even know how to thank her. But once Cora comes out, I’ll make sure she knows how much I appreciate her.

For the next five hours, I stay glued to the bench or pace around when I can’t take it anymore.

I must have prayed a thousand times, whispered Cora’s name a hundred more. Gwen dozed off beside me at some point, her head resting against the wall, but I couldn’t even close my eyes.

When the doors to the operating room finally open, I’m on my feet before I even realize it. Dr. Wilson walks out first.

“How is she?”

He gives me a tired smile. “The surgery was successful. Cora is safe for now.”

Tears spill down my face before I can stop them. “Can I… can I see her?”

“Of course,” He nods. “But she’s still under observation. Keep it brief.”

As the nurses wheel Cora out of the OR, I catch sight of her small frame—so pale, yet so peaceful—and my heart breaks and mends all at once.

“She’s safe,” I whisper to myself, gripping the edge of her bed as they pass. “You did it, baby. You made it.”

I reach out to touch her hand, just for a second—to feel that she’s really here, that she’s really breathing—but before I can, someone yanks me back. The motion is so sudden I stumble, my hands slamming into someone else’s chest.

“Make way! Make way! Move!”

I blink, dazed, as another patient is rushed past on a stretcher—monitors beeping wildly, doctors shouting orders.

Once the hallway falls back in silence, I realize I’m still planted to some stranger.

I pull away like I have been electrocuted. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

It’s only when I look up that I realize who it is—the same doctor from earlier. The one who told me not to starve myself. Even though his mask still hides half his face, I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Thank you… for earlier,” I manage, my voice still shaky. “And for now.”

He did move me out of the way—I didn’t even see the stretcher coming.

He gives a small nod, then takes a step closer. I tense, unsure what he’s doing, until he tilts my chin up gently, just like before, and studies my eyes.

“You ate?” he asks.

“Yes,” I blurt out, a little too quickly.

“Good. But not nearly enough.”

“I—”

“Elara!”

The sound of my name, sharp and furious, cuts through the air. I turn to see Damon storming down the hallway, his expression thunderous. Before I can even react, he’s beside me, grabbing my arm hard enough to make me wince.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” he snarls, yanking me back, “standing this close to some stranger?”