Chapter 79: Safe Hands and Soft Landings

Chapter 79: Safe Hands and Soft Landings
Mrs. Joe had just gotten off another phone call with the airline when she immediately dialled Lydia’s number. She didn’t wait long for it to connect. Her voice, although trying to stay composed, carried an undertone of worry and visible frustration.

“Hi sweetheart, it’s Mum,” she said gently.

“Hi Mum… any updates?” Lydia asked. Her voice sounded steady but tired, like she was hanging onto the last thread of hope that maybe—just maybe—her parents would be on their way back.

“Well… I just spoke to the airline again. The storm’s picked up again this morning. All flights have been suspended until further notice. We tried to get the earliest available seats for tomorrow morning, but they won’t guarantee anything yet. They’re not promising anything until they assess the winds again.”

Lydia closed her eyes briefly and nodded, even though her mother couldn’t see her. “Alright. Just keep me posted.”

“I will,” her mother said softly. “I hate this, Lydia. I hate that I’m not there with you. But your dad and I—we’re trying, I promise. We’ve been checking every few hours. It’s just this weather. It won’t let up.”

“I know, Mum. It’s okay. Just get home safe. That’s all I want. Nothing else matters.”

They ended the call quietly. Lydia sat still for a moment, her chest tightening slightly. The last few days had been a whirlwind of anxiety, interrupted sleep, and too many hours in hospital corridors. This delay wasn’t just a travel inconvenience—it felt like a physical ache. But she didn’t want her mother to feel worse than she already did. So she kept it together.

She tucked the phone into her bag and looked back down the corridor of the hospital. The walls were painted in calming pastel shades, but the mood of the surgical floor was far from peaceful.

Inside the waiting area, Mr. and Mrs. James sat quietly with Lydia seated between them. No one spoke much. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was weighted. It carried the kind of quiet that fills rooms when everyone is waiting for something big, when words feel too small to matter. Nearly three hours had passed since Dennis had been wheeled into the operating theatre. The hands on the wall clock seemed to move slowly, dragging each second forward.

Lydia occasionally glanced at Mrs. James’s hands—she was gripping her rosary beads so tightly that her knuckles had gone pale. Her lips moved in silent prayer, barely audible. Mr. James sat stiffly beside her, tapping his foot to no particular rhythm, his gaze fixed blankly on the far wall. No one checked their phones. No one reached for a magazine. They just waited.

Then finally, the double doors to the operating room opened.

The doctor stepped out in blue scrubs, his surgical mask pulled down beneath his chin, exposing a tired but calm expression. His eyes met theirs, and all three stood at once.

“How is he?” Mrs. James asked. Her voice trembled. She barely got the words out.

The doctor offered a small smile. Not a grin, not exaggerated—just enough to release the breath that had been caught in their lungs.

“We thank God,” he said. “The surgery went well. It was successful. Everything went smoothly, and we didn’t run into any unexpected complications. Dennis should begin to regain consciousness within the next 18 to 20 hours. He’ll be closely monitored, but we’re optimistic.”

As he spoke, a nurse rolled Dennis out of the theatre behind him, lying unconscious on a mobile bed. He looked peaceful—his breathing even, the usual tension in his face completely gone. Tubes still framed his nose and arms, but the worst part, it seemed, was over.

At the sight of her son, Mrs. James dropped to her knees and burst into tears. It was the kind of weeping that didn’t hold back, not even in public. The kind you couldn’t suppress when a burden had finally started to lift.

She reached forward and held the doctor’s hand tightly with both of hers. “Thank you… Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for bringing my baby back to me.”

The doctor leaned down, gently helping her up. “Ma, please, it’s okay. Stand up. We’re just doing our job. He’s stable now, and he’s in good hands. He’s strong. He’s pulled through.”

She stood with her husband’s help and wiped her eyes with the edge of her scarf. The nurse guided the bed down the hallway toward the recovery wing, and they all followed closely behind. Lydia lingered just slightly behind, giving the family a moment of space.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message lit up the screen.

Julia: “When are you coming home? Auntie left already. I’m here alone.”

Lydia checked the time—7:50 PM. The sky outside was already darkening. She sighed quietly and stepped into the recovery room. Dennis was resting quietly, surrounded by monitors. His parents stood on either side of the bed, whispering prayers and words of love.

“I just got a message from my sister,” Lydia said softly. “She’s home alone now.”

Mrs. James turned to her, touched her gently on the arm. “Oh, of course, you’ve been here all day. Thank you, Lydia. For everything. God bless you, my dear.”

“I’ll take a cab,” Lydia said with a small smile.

“No, no,” Mrs. James insisted. “Let me walk you out to the entrance. It’s late already. I’ll feel better seeing you off myself.”

They walked side by side down the corridor. The fluorescent lights above gave the hall a soft hum, and Lydia noticed how tired Mrs. James looked now, the tension draining away but replaced by the weight of days without rest.

As they reached the hospital entrance, the wind outside had picked up. It carried a gentle chill, a reminder that the storm hadn’t quite passed yet. A sudden, loud car horn startled both women.

Lydia turned sharply, trying to see clearly through the darkness and the scattered streetlights. A familiar silver car was parked at the curb.

“Do you know him?” Mrs. James asked, visibly concerned.

“Yes, yes, that’s Victor!” Lydia replied, her face brightening a little. “He’s Melissa’s older brother. He’s like family to us.”

“Ohhh,” Mrs. James said, relaxing. “Melissa, the young lady who was here with you and your sister earlier?”

“Yes, that’s her. I wasn’t expecting him though. I guess Mrs. Wright must’ve sent him. That’s Melissa and Victor’s mum. She’s like a second mum to me.”

Mrs. James smiled. “You’re very blessed to have so many people who love you, Lydia. I was just worried about you heading home alone this late. Thank God he came.”

They reached the car. Victor rolled down the window and gave a polite nod.

“Evening, ma.”

“Good evening,” Mrs. James replied, waving but not coming too close. “Thank you for coming.”

Just as Lydia was about to open the front door, a small hand shot out from the back seat and poked her side. She let out a little shriek and spun around.

“Melissa!” she exclaimed, laughing. “You scared me!”

“That was the goal!” Melissa giggled.

Victor chuckled. “You two never change.”

Lydia settled into the passenger seat, still smiling. Melissa leaned forward from the back.

“I told Mum you’d been at the hospital all day,” she explained. “She said it was too late for you to be heading home alone, so she sent Victor. I didn’t want to stay behind, so I tagged along.”

Mrs. James stood a few paces back, watching them drive off with a small, tired smile. She waved one last time before they turned the corner and disappeared down the road.

Back in the hospital room, the night nurse came in to check Dennis’ vitals. The monitors beeped steadily, their rhythm comforting in the quiet. Mrs. James sat back in her chair, exhaling deeply.

Her son was alive. He was safe. And for the first time in days, she allowed herself to close her eyes.