A Fragile Heart [2]

The moment my scream echoes through the ICU, the doors burst open. A team of doctors rushes to Jennifer's side.

"We've got Code Blue!" one shouts.

"Get the husband out of here!"

A doctor hurries toward me, ready to drag me away.

I swing before I think—my fist lands square on his jaw, and he drops.

"Please, Mr. Bennet, you have to step out," Dr. Paresh says, stepping in quickly. His voice is urgent but gentle, trying to calm me. "We need room to work."

"Doctor, please…" My voice cracks. "Please, save my wife…"

"We will. But you have to let us do our job. Just give us space."

He signals a paramedic, and this time, I don't resist. My body moves on autopilot.

I stumble out of the room and lean against the cold, sterile wall outside. My chest rises and falls too fast. My hands are shaking. My heart is hammering out of rhythm with the monitor I can still hear faintly behind the door.

My mind is blank—no, worse than blank. It's a storm. Spinning with panic. What if they can't save her? What if that moment—those words she whispered—was all I get? What if…

No. No. No!

I slam my fists into the wall.

She must survive.

She has to.

Every second feels like an hour. But in just under ten minutes—ten eternal, dragging minutes—Dr. Paresh steps out, peeling off his surgical mask.

I rush to him, nearly tripping over my own feet. "Doctor…"

"She's stable now," he says immediately, reading my face.

The breath I've been holding finally escapes me. I collapse forward into his arms, unable to say anything other than a hoarse, "Thank you… thank you…"

He pats my back gently. When I step back, he exhales slowly and continues. "But… her heart is in worse shape than we hoped. We managed to stabilize her for now, but the damage is significant. We'll need to replace at least two valves. Possibly her entire heart."

His words hit harder than any punch. My knees buckle. I drop to the floor.

"She just woke up…" I whisper, my voice breaking. "She just woke up…"

Dr. Paresh kneels beside me. His voice is calm, clinical, but soft. "Heart valve replacement has a very high success rate. Over 97%. Even a transplant, while more complicated, has strong odds—85 to 90 percent survival."

I lift my head to meet his eyes. "When? When will you do it?"

He hesitates. A long pause.

"Madam hasn't authorized the procedure yet," he says finally. "She insists on speaking with you first. She said it concerns… an agreement."

My head falls forward again. I don't need to ask what agreement she means.

I already know.

-

I've been sitting beside Jennifer for another twelve hours. My right hand still holds hers, gently nestled between my palms, while my left reaches through the incubator's rubber glove, cradling Sophie's tiny palm.

I brought her in this morning—Sophie, box and all. I didn't want Jennifer to miss her daughter's face when she woke up. I didn't want her first breath of awareness to be pain and machines and white ceilings. I wanted her to see Sophie. To remember what we fought for.

Even with both of my hands full, my mind drifts—back to the conversation I had hours ago with Mrs. Rauss.

-

"I'm sorry, my son. It's not that I don't care about your wife... or you," she said, her eyes heavy with something that looked like pity. "It's just..."

She sighed and didn't finish.

I didn't speak. I just stared at her in silence.

"We had an agreement," she reminded me.

I nodded.

"I agreed to save your baby, and remove the iron from Jennifer's heart. My doctors even tried to repair the damaged valves. That was never part of the original deal."

Again, I nodded, eyes closed this time.

She studied me for a long moment. "We could make another agreement," she offered. "We could give her a new heart, Scott. You know we have the technology."

Her voice lowered, persuasive now, gentle and deadly like a snake's lullaby. "All you have to do is…"

"Join the organization," I finished for her, my voice as flat as my soul.

She nodded.

-

The memory dissolves as I feel movement in Jennifer's hand. I jolt upright and carefully, breathlessly, lift Sophie out of the incubator.

"Hi, Baby…" I whisper, trembling as Jennifer's eyelids slowly flutter open.

Her gaze is hazy at first, dazed and searching. Then her eyes fall on Sophie in my arms.

"She's ours, Babe," I say with a wide, hopeful smile. "Our baby. Her name's Sophie. Do you want to see her?"

She nods—barely, weakly, but unmistakably. Her eyes start to glisten as I lean in and bring Sophie closer. When she lays eyes on our daughter, the lines of pain on her face smooth away, replaced by pure, radiant awe.

"Hey, Baby…" Jennifer whispers softly to Sophie, touching her cheek with trembling fingers. Then she looks up at me, voice cracking. "She's so beautiful…"

"You want to hold her?" I ask.

"Can I?"

"Of course—just watch your chest, okay?" I say gently as I place Sophie into her arms.

She winces as Sophie rests on her, but she doesn't stop smiling. Her arms adjust instinctively, and Sophie doesn't stir—sleeping soundly, safe in her mother's warmth for the first time.

The love in Jennifer's gaze makes everything inside me ache. The stress, the guilt, the fear—it all dissolves for a moment, washed away by the sight of mother and child finally united.

Footsteps approach behind me.

"Hello, Mrs. Bennet," Dr. Paresh greets her warmly, entering with a nurse.

"The baby needs to be fed," the nurse says softly.

Jennifer frowns. "Why can't I breastfeed her?"

The nurse glances at Dr. Paresh for help.

"You will," he assures her gently. "But not yet. Your body's still recovering. You need rest."

Jennifer watches reluctantly as the nurse takes Sophie. Her eyes linger on the baby until the door closes. Only then does she lay back, her hand instinctively rubbing her chest.

"Where am I?" she asks.

"A health facility," I answer, voice faltering.

Her eyebrows knit together. "You mean a hospital?"

"Not… exactly," I admit, trying to keep my voice steady.

Her frown deepens. "Then what is this place? Why am I here instead of a hospital?"

"Ma'am, you need to stay calm," Dr. Paresh interrupts gently, already preparing a syringe.

"I'll tell you everything," I say quickly, raising my hand to stop her panic. "But you need to let Dr. Paresh give you a sedative first."

"Why?" she asks, her voice sharper now.

"Your heart is damaged," he replies carefully. "Any stress or panic could be dangerous right now."

Jennifer freezes, stunned.

"Baby… are you okay?" I ask, worried.

"My heart is damaged?" she whispers, more to herself than to me.

"It is," I say softly.

A tear slips down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly. "So what you're about to tell me will stress me out," she concludes, her sharp eyes locked on mine. "That's why I need to be sedated."

I forgot how piercing her mind can be. Even now, I thought—stupidly—I could manage her reaction. But she sees right through me.

I nod silently.

She studies me for a long moment. Her gaze slices through my soul. Then, she sighs. "Okay."

Dr. Paresh injects the sedative through her IV port. Within minutes, her eyes are drooping, her pulse soft and low on the monitor.

"She's ready," he says quietly.

I move my stool closer. My hand finds hers again.

I swallow hard.

"Your heart is damaged… because of me."

Then I begin. I tell her everything—about the accident. About how she was taken. How I found her. How I made a deal with the devil for our daughter's life. And how now… that devil wants more.

When I finish, Jennifer stares at me, tears spilling from the corners of her heavy-lidded eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

She doesn't reply. She just shifts her hand away slightly and turns her head.

"The agreement was fulfilled, right?" she asks.

I nod.

"So… we can leave?"

I hesitate. "Your heart needs more surgery, Jen. Soon. Mrs. Rauss is offering to—"

"No." Her voice is steel, even with sedative in her veins. "Let me out of here. Now."