Chapter 67 Morning Hope
Chapter 67 Morning Hope
Alaric sat quietly beside his daughter’s bed, his eyes heavy from sleepless nights. The rhythmic beeping of the hospital monitor was the only sound that broke the silence. Zara lay still, her face pale yet peaceful, as if she were only sleeping. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead and whispered softly, “You’re going to come out of this, my girl. I know you will.”
Hours passed, the sterile smell of disinfectant mixing with the faint scent of lilies someone had left by her bedside. When his throat turned dry, Alaric finally stood, intending to grab a cup of coffee. But as he stepped into the corridor, he froze.
There, on the row of chairs, sat Adrian and Isabella. Both were asleep Isabella’s head resting lightly on Adrian’s arm. The sight took him aback. For so long, he had carried resentment toward Adrian, believing he was the reason Zara had ended up in this hospital bed. Yet now, seeing the young man still here after the long night, exhaustion written across his face, something in Alaric’s heart softened.
He hesitated for a long moment, then turned back into the ward. Moments later, he returned with two hospital blankets. Carefully, he draped one over Isabella’s shoulders, then over Adrian. He lingered, watching them breathe softly in their sleep. Maybe I’ve been wrong about him, he thought quietly. Maybe he does care for her more than I allowed myself to believe.
The night passed slowly, the hospital quiet except for distant footsteps and murmured voices from other rooms. By the time the first light of dawn slipped through the blinds, Alaric’s eyes were heavy again.
Adrian stirred first. He blinked, momentarily confused, until he realized Isabella was still leaning against him. Gently, he shook her awake. As she lifted her head, the blanket slid off her shoulders. Adrian looked at it, puzzled, then smiled faintly. “So… she’s kind like her father,” he murmured, understanding who must have covered them.
Before leaving, the two paused by Zara’s door. Alaric sat still beside his daughter, his hand resting protectively over hers. Adrian’s expression softened; he felt oddly comforted knowing she was in such safe hands.
Later that morning, back at the office, Adrian called an emergency meeting. The air was tense as employees gathered around, whispering. He stood at the front, his voice low but steady.
“One of our employees was shot,” he began. The words made the entire room gasp. “It’s Zara Alaric. She’s at case Hospital. You can visit her if you wish she could use your prayers.”
Murmurs spread across the room. Shock and sadness filled every face. Even Rosey, who rarely showed much emotion, looked stricken. But the most broken of all was Claire Zara’s closest friend. She pressed a hand to her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Zara?” she whispered. “Not her…”
Adrian dismissed the meeting soon after, his thoughts too scattered to focus on anything else. He returned to the hospital that evening, his heart tightening when he entered Zara’s room. Alaric was still there, seated by her side, reading a newspaper. The hum of the machines filled the silence between them.
For a long while, Adrian just stood by the doorway, watching the father who refused to leave his daughter’s side. He wanted to speak, to offer help or comfort but words felt meaningless. Alaric looked up briefly, acknowledged him with a quiet glance, and then returned to his paper. The tension between them lingered like unspoken fog.
Adrian couldn’t help but wonder about something that had nagged him for days he had never once seen Zara’s mother. Not during her surgery, not in the waiting rooms, not even in the hallways. But he quickly pushed the thought aside; now wasn’t the time to pry.
Three days crawled by. The hospital room became filled with flowers, cards, and tiny notes from nearly every employee at the company. Even though Zara remained unconscious, people came by every day some to talk to her softly, others to pray. Alaric watched in quiet gratitude. His daughter had touched more lives than he’d realized.
And through it all, Adrian never failed to show up. Every morning and evening, he’d be there, sitting quietly by her bedside. Sometimes he brought coffee for Alaric. Sometimes he said nothing at all. Just his presence felt like a silent apology.
Then, one morning, something miraculous happened.
Alaric was half-asleep in his chair, a folded newspaper resting on his lap, when he felt the faintest movement. His eyes flew open. Zara’s fingers twitched. Her eyelids fluttered weakly before opening halfway.
“Daddy…” she whispered, her voice hoarse and fragile.
Alaric froze, hardly daring to believe it. Then a smile, wide and tearful, broke across his face. “Zara… my dear, you’re awake!” His voice trembled with relief as he leaned closer, gently holding her hand. “You’re back, my girl. You’re back.”