Chapter 32 032
RYAN
The words didn’t make sense at first.
They landed in the air between us—clinical, calm, absurdly out of place—and my brain refused to arrange them into meaning. I stared at the doctor’s mouth as it moved, like if I watched closely enough, the sounds would rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.
“A… what?” I asked, the word scraping its way out of my throat.
Beside me, Emily went completely still.
Not frozen in shock the way people describe. Just rigid. Her hand was wrapped around the metal rail of Zara’s hospital bed, fingers digging in so hard I could see the tendons standing out beneath her skin. Her knuckles were bone-white.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
Her voice didn’t wobble. That scared me more than if it had.
The doctor—Dr. Patel, according to the badge clipped neatly to his coat—didn’t flinch. He pulled a stool closer, lowering himself to eye level like he understood that whatever came next would drop us to our knees if he wasn’t careful.
“It’s called a congenital heart defect,” he said gently. “In Zara’s case, it’s a small opening between the chambers of her heart. A ventricular septal defect. A VSD.”
I blinked.
The words were familiar in shape but meaningless in practice. Defect. Opening. Heart. My brain snagged on the last one and refused to let go.
“Something she was born with,” he added.
Emily sucked in a sharp breath, like the air had been punched out of her chest. “How…” Her fingers tightened on the rail. “How did I not know about it?”
Dr. Patel nodded slowly, like he’d been expecting that question. Like he’d answered it a hundred times already.
“Many ventricular septal defects are small,” he explained. “They don’t always cause symptoms right away. A child’s body can compensate—her heart works harder to make up for the leak. For years, that can be enough.”
My gaze drifted to Zara.
She was sitting upright against the pillows, a blanket tucked under her arms, her small socked feet swinging absently over the edge of the bed. A cartoon played on the tablet propped in front of her, bright colors reflected in her wide eyes. She hummed along to the theme song, completely oblivious.
“But now,” the doctor continued, “her heart can’t keep up with the demand anymore. That’s why she fainted. Her oxygen levels dropped. That episode was her body telling us it needs help.”
Emily shook her head, once. “But she’s never been sick,” she said. “She runs. She plays. She—” Her voice cracked. “She looks fine.”
“She does,” Dr. Patel agreed softly. “She looks perfectly healthy. That’s why these conditions often go undetected. We usually find them during moments like this—when something finally pushes the body past what it can compensate for.”
I swallowed, my throat burning. “So what happens now?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“The hole needs to be closed.”
Emily’s hand slipped from the rail, her fingers curling into the fabric of Zara’s blanket instead. “Closed… how?”
“Surgery,” he said.
The word dropped like a bomb.
Not loud. Not explosive.
Just devastating.
“Yes,” he continued, unhurried. “It’s a common procedure. Depending on the size and location of the defect, we may be able to do it with a minimally invasive approach. If not, we’ll perform open-heart surgery and close the opening with a patch. Our pediatric cardiac team does this often.”
I barely heard the rest.
Open-heart.
Zara.
My chest tightened so fast it felt like my ribs were caving inward.
“When?” I asked.
The question came out flat, detached. Like I was asking about a meeting or a flight time.
“As soon as possible,” Dr. Patel said. “Tomorrow would be advisable. The sooner we repair it, the less strain on her heart long-term. She’s stable now. We’ve already run her pre-op labs. We can move quickly.”
Emily made a sound then—small and broken—and sank down onto the edge of the bed. Zara glanced up, her brows knitting together.
“Mummy?” she asked.
Emily immediately pasted on a smile, brushing a hand through Zara’s hair. “Hey, baby,” she said softly. “You okay?”
Zara nodded. “My head doesn’t feel funny anymore.”
I turned away before either of them could see my face.
“I know this is a lot,” Dr. Patel said quietly. “Most parents feel overwhelmed. But I want you to know—this is very treatable. She has an excellent prognosis. Our team is one of the best.”
I nodded. Once. Twice. I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to anymore.
“She’s in good hands,” he added.
Then he stood, gave us a moment, and slipped out of the room.
The silence he left behind was deafening.
Emily didn’t move. She just sat there, staring at Zara like she was trying to memorize face.
Zara went back to her cartoon.
She didn’t know.
She didn’t understand that her heart—her tiny, stubborn heart—was failing her. That strangers were going to open her chest tomorrow and fix something we never knew was broken.
I reached out and touched Emily’s elbow. “Em…”
Nothing.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said, though I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there.
She didn’t look at me.
I stepped out into the hallway and walked fast, needing motion, needing something to do with my body before I shattered completely.
I found Dr. Patel at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart.
“How soon can the surgery be?” I asked again.
He looked up, expression steady. “Tomorrow morning. First case.”
“Okay.”
He studied me for a moment, then softened. “I know this feels sudden,” he said. “But you brought her in. You did the right thing. That made all the difference.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
He clapped a reassuring hand on my shoulder before walking away.
I leaned back against the wall, my head thudding softly against the cool paint.
Tomorrow.
Surgery.
My little girl—my baby—going under anesthesia, her chest opened, her heart stopped and restarted like it was a machine.
My hands were shaking when I pulled my phone from my pocket.
Two missed texts from Miranda.
Everything okay?
Need anything?
I stared at the screen for a long time before hitting call.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey. Are you done?”
I closed my eyes. “No.”
A pause. “Is everything okay?”
“She has… a hole in her heart. They’re doing surgery tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my God. Ryan…”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to come?” she asked quickly. “I can bring food, coffee—anything.”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it. “No. You have to leave.”
Another pause. This one heavier. “Because of Zara’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“I understand,” she said softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The line went dead.
I slid my phone back into my pocket and stayed where I was, staring at nothing.