Chapter 152 Praying on My Knees
Chapter 152 Praying on My Knees
Alexander's POV:
"Mr. Sterling," Bill approached with a grim expression, "I just received word from the pilot. The storm in New York has intensified. All flights are being diverted. We'll need to land in Boston."
My jaw tightened. "And when can we get to New York?"
"Not until tomorrow at the earliest, sir. The weather forecast—"
"Today," I cut him off. "I need to be there today."
Bill shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, New York's airports can't accept any landings in this weather. It's impossible."
I stood abruptly, towering over him. "Land in Boston. Have a car waiting. I'll drive myself to New York."
"But sir, the roads will be dangerous. The storm—"
"Contact the transportation department. I'll sign whatever waiver they need. If anything happens on the highway, it's on me, not them." My voice left no room for argument.
---
The sleek black Bentley waited on the tarmac when we touched down in Boston. I emerged from the jet, my tailored suit immediately soaked by the driving rain. I slid into the driver's seat without hesitation.
Bill rushed to join me, climbing into the passenger seat just as I was about to pull away.
I turned to him with surprise. "I didn't ask you to come with me."
"With all due respect, sir," Bill replied, fastening his seatbelt, "whatever you're doing, I'm coming with you."
I nodded once and slammed my foot on the accelerator. The Bentley shot forward, spraying water as it tore away from the airport and toward the highway.
---
The sky was just beginning to lighten when I finally pulled up to our family chapel. Despite the early hour and relentless rain, several figures stood waiting outside, huddled under umbrellas.
As I stepped out of the car, my father moved forward to meet me. "Alexander, you made it."
My mother approached next, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. "We've been praying all night," she whispered, reaching for my hand.
I scanned the group—my parents, Robert, Luca, and Noah. All dressed formally, all looking as though they hadn't slept.
Inside, the chapel was lit by hundreds of candles, their light reflecting off the polished wooden pews and stained glass windows. I approached the altar, dropping to my knees before it. My hands clasped together so tightly my fingers ached.
Father Matthews appeared at my side, offering a simple silver cross. "God will hear your prayers, my son."
I accepted it, closing my eyes as I silently pleaded for Emma's safety. The weight of fear pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe.
"She's in God's hands now," my father said, placing a hand on my shoulder as our entire family knelt at the altar.
Father Matthews led us in prayer, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Lord, we ask You to watch over Emma North Sterling in her time of need. Guide the hands of her surgeons and grant her strength..."
---
"Where is Emma?" I demanded the moment I stepped through the door of our Sicilian villa. The flight from New York had felt endless, each minute an eternity.
Isabella and several Phoenix family members sat in the grand entrance hall, their expressions solemn.
"Upstairs, sir," Isabella replied. "In the master bedroom."
I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding in my chest. I burst through the bedroom door and froze at the sight before me.
The room had been transformed into a makeshift hospital room. Medical equipment surrounded the bed where Emma lay motionless. Her head was wrapped in bandages, an oxygen mask covered her face, and IV lines ran into her arms. Only the steady beep of the heart monitor confirmed she was still alive.
I moved to her bedside, dropping to my knees. "Emma..." My voice was barely audible, thick with emotion.
Joseph and Neil stood nearby, their expressions grave. I looked up at them, struggling to form words. "Emma... the surgery..."
Bill wiped away a tear and looked toward the doctors. "How is Mrs. Sterling?"
Joseph sighed heavily. "The tumor removal went smoothly. The tests show it's not as aggressive as we initially feared."
"Then why did the surgery last twenty hours?" I asked, my composure returning enough to ask questions.
"Of those twenty hours, four were spent dealing with Emma's... hair situation," Joseph explained with a hint of exasperation. "She didn't realize her head would need to be shaved. When she found out, she cried for those four hours. Neil and I practically begged on our knees before she agreed. And then she demanded we shave our heads too, to accompany her."
Joseph removed his cap, revealing his bare scalp. "Another six hours were spent dealing with anesthesia complications. Emma showed extraordinary resistance to the anesthetics. Even respiratory anesthesia couldn't fully sedate her. The anesthesiologist nearly had a breakdown. After consulting with senior specialists and recalculating dosages, we finally managed to sedate her. But after surgery, we couldn't wake her up. She still hasn't regained consciousness."
Neil continued, "We can't determine if she's in a coma or if the anesthesia hasn't worn off. We've never encountered a case like this. We've consulted with the world's top anesthesiologists in four online conferences, but still have no solution."
Joseph's voice grew heavier. "Medically speaking, the surgery was a success. But given Emma's condition, we can't determine if there are complications or what they might be. She should have woken up by now. We don't dare remove the ventilator. We can only monitor her around the clock, waiting for any response."
---
For the next few days, I barely left Emma's bedside. I ate and slept in her room, leaving only to shower or use the bathroom. Though Emma's vital signs gradually stabilized, she remained unresponsive.
On the fifth day, Joseph and Neil entered the room, followed by Isabella and Luca. I sat beside the bed, holding Emma's hand, my eyes vacant from exhaustion.
"Mr. Sterling," Joseph began hesitantly.
I looked up. "Yes?"
"We just finished another online conference with several medical experts," Joseph said, his demeanor subdued. "We have a preliminary diagnosis regarding Emma's condition."
"When will she wake up?" I asked directly.
Isabella and the others waited anxiously for the doctors' verdict.
"Based on our experience and Emma's current state," Joseph started, his voice faltering, "we're reasonably certain she's..."
"In a vegetative state. Her chances of waking up..."