Ch-39

•~•Third Person POV

Melissa didn’t wait.

The car hadn’t even come to a complete stop before she flung the door open, ignoring the driver’s startled shout behind her.

Her heels struck the pavement in quick, urgent clicks as she stormed toward the hospital entrance, her designer coat whipping around her ankles, heart thudding against her ribs.

She had no time for formalities. Not today.

Just as she walked through the automatic sliding doors, a familiar figure stepped into view—Dr. Alfred, a man in his mid-fifties with a neatly trimmed beard and the calm presence she’d grown used to over the years.

“Mrs. Grant,” he said, falling into step beside her. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“My team’s running a full assessment—brain activity, muscle coordination, vitals…”

“...We’re keeping stimulation low—minimizing noise and light, to give his mind space to orient itself—”

But Melissa wasn’t really listening. His words blurred into background static.

All she could think about was getting to the ward. To him.

Her son.

Her Nathaniel.

Five years. Five whole years.

She had visited that room every single day. Sat beside him. Talked to him. Held his hand. Prayed. Hoped. Grieved.

But today didn’t just feel different.

It was.

And with that thought, just as they reached the ward, she stopped, suddenly frozen a few feet from the door.

Her breath caught. Her legs refused to move.

Behind her, Dr. Alfred’s voice came gently, full of quiet understanding. “Whenever you're ready, Mrs. Grant.”

A second passed. Then another.

Her fingers curled into her palms.

“I’m ready,” she whispered—though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than anyone else.

Dr. Alfred stepped forward and pushed the door open. It slid aside with a soft hiss.

Melissa drew in a sharp breath.

There he was.

Propped up slightly by pillows, the oxygen mask gone—replaced by a thin nasal cannula delivering steady air.

Electrodes clung to his chest beneath the hospital gown, wires trailing into machines beside the bed.

His skin, once ghost-pale, had regained some color. But he still looked fragile.

Like a paper doll someone had breathed life into.

And those eyes—his green eyes—looked dull, distant, and unfocused, like someone surfacing from a long, heavy dream they weren’t ready to leave.

Slowly, they lifted to meet hers, dazed.

“Mom…” he rasped, voice hoarse and broken from disuse.

Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth. Tears welled up fast, spilling over before she could stop them.

“My baby,” she breathed, already moving to his bedside, sinking onto the edge.

She wrapped her arms around him gently, as if holding him too tightly might cause him to break.

Her voice cracked. “I thought I lost you.”

He clung to her weakly, his breath shallow against her neck.

When she finally pulled back, her hands cradled his face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks, her eyes memorizing every detail like she was afraid he might disappear.

“I almost can’t believe it,” she said, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “It wasn’t that long ago the doctor said you moved your hand... that you were showing signs of waking up—and now here you are. You’re really awake.”

Nathaniel blinked slowly. “The doctor said… It's been five years.”

Her smile faltered.

Only for a second. Then she forced it back and cupped his cheek.

“It’s okay. I’m here, sweetheart. I’ll be here every step of the way. We’ll take it one day at a time—until you’re strong again. Until you’re back on your feet and ready to face the world.”

She turned slightly, ready to ask Dr. Alfred the questions that had been swirling in her mind—updates, next steps, what recovery might look like, what to expect in the days ahead.

But before she could speak, she felt Nathaniel’s hand curl weakly around her wrist.

“Mom,” he said again.

She turned back instantly. “Yes, love?”

Nathaniel’s brows drew together faintly. His voice was steadier now, but his eyes… there was something searching in them. Something heavy.

“Where is she…?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Irene?”

Melissa went still.

The smile vanished from her face.