Chapter136 Did You Save Me?
Urgent footsteps echoed through the hospital's empty late-night corridor.
Harrison rushed to the nurses' station, gripping the counter with both hands. From running so hard, his chest heaved violently, his voice hoarse: "The mine accident victim just brought in... Miranda, where is she? How is she?"
The nurse on duty was startled by his bloodshot eyes. After checking the records, she said hurriedly, "The patient has been moved from the emergency room. Her vital signs are temporarily stable. She's in Room 302 now."
"Stable... good, stable is good."
Harrison seemed drained of all strength. His tense spine instantly collapsed as he leaned against the wall, gasping for air.
That sense of relief mixed with the regret that nearly consumed him made his eyes sting.
If something had really happened to her...
He didn't dare imagine that outcome.
"Harrison."
A familiar voice came from behind.
Allen was also breathing heavily, surprised at how fast Harrison had run. He sighed. "Now that you've heard she's okay, you can relax, right?"
Harrison grunted and headed toward Room 302.
"Hey, wait."
Allen grabbed him, looking him up and down at his filthy, torn clothes. "Look at yourself. Covered in mud, clothes ripped. There's a hotel right here. Go take a shower, change clothes, get some rest before coming back. Miranda's still unconscious. There's no point in you sitting there."
"I'm not leaving."
Harrison shook off Allen's hand, his tone stubborn. "I'm staying with her. What if she wakes up and no one's there?"
"Are you sick? The doctor said she needs observation. She definitely won't wake up tonight." Allen frowned.
"I said I'm not leaving."
Harrison wouldn't listen to reason. He strode to the hospital room door, gazing hungrily through the glass window at the pale woman on the bed, then gently pushed the door open, walked in, and sat in the bedside chair like a statue.
Allen watched his back, shook his head helplessly, and left the room.
That night was particularly long.
The next day, noon.
Sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating tiny dust particles floating in the air.
Miranda felt as if she'd been taken apart and reassembled. Every bone, every muscle screamed in pain.
"Hiss..."
She instinctively tried to lift her hand but found her arm too heavy to move. Her throat felt parched, as if she'd swallowed a handful of sand.
"You're awake?"
The doctor adjusting her IV noticed the movement and looked down. "Don't move around. You were buried underground for over ten hours. Maintaining one position for so long under compression caused muscle and soft tissue contusions. The pain is normal. Rest for a while and you'll be fine."
Miranda blinked, adjusting to the light as consciousness slowly returned.
She wasn't dead.
She had actually survived.
"Thank... thank you, doctor." Miranda's voice was hoarse and broken.
The doctor checked her pupils and remarked, "Don't thank me. Thank the man who brought you in yesterday."
"When you were first rescued, your vital signs were already very weak—severe oxygen deprivation plus hypothermia. If that man hadn't kept performing CPR on you, it would have been difficult to save you."
Miranda was completely unaware of what the doctor was saying.
By then, the doctor had finished adjusting the IV line and, after giving a few words of instruction, turned and left the room.
Miranda felt terribly thirsty. She struggled to prop herself up to reach the water cup on the bedside table.
"Don't move!"
The hospital room door burst open.
A tall figure rushed in, casually setting down the lunch box in his hand and reaching out to support Miranda's shoulders, his tone urgent yet reproachful: "What are you trying to do? Didn't the doctor tell you not to move?"
Miranda's body stiffened. She looked up to meet a familiar face.
Harrison.
He looked nothing like his usual well-dressed, confident self.
That expensive handmade shirt was wrinkled and rumpled, his hair disheveled, his chin covered in dark stubble, his eyes bloodshot. He looked utterly haggard.
Confusion flashed in Miranda's eyes.
Harrison turned to pour a cup of warm water, tested the temperature, then brought it to her lips.
"Drink first. Your voice is completely hoarse."
Miranda was indeed parched. She drank from his hand, the warm liquid sliding down her throat, finally easing that burning sensation.
She leaned back against the pillow, her gaze fixed on Harrison, asking again, "Harrison, why are you here?"
"He came looking for me."
Allen's voice came from the doorway.
He pushed the door open, glancing at Harrison then at Miranda, his face wearing that perpetually polished smile, though his eyes held deeper meaning.
"Miranda, I'm truly sorry you had to go through this."
Allen walked over, gesturing to Harrison. "Harrison originally came here on business with me. But as soon as he arrived, he heard about the mine collapse and that the person buried was you. He went crazy, immediately put on rescue gear and rushed to join the rescue team."
Miranda froze.
She processed this for two seconds, looking at Harrison—at his disheveled appearance, at those bloodshot eyes.
"You... saved me?"
Before he could answer, Allen spoke up: "Of course. Last night he sat here watching over you all night. Didn't close his eyes once."
Miranda's feelings were complicated.
She really did dislike Harrison—his indecisiveness, his past hurt.
But the facts were right in front of her.
The doctor said if not for that man, she might already be dead.
Complex emotions spread through her chest, mixed with indescribable gratitude.
"Thank you."
Miranda lowered her eyes, her voice soft but clear. "Thank you for saving me."
"No need to thank me."
Harrison opened the lunch box, scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, blew on it, and brought it to her lips. "Eat something first. You were unconscious too long. Your stomach is empty."
Miranda felt uncomfortable and turned her head slightly. She tried to reach for it. "I can do it myself."
"Can your hands even move?" Harrison didn't pull back, the spoon stubbornly hovering at her lips. "Open up."
Miranda tried lifting her hand. It was indeed weak and sore.
She had no choice but to open her mouth and accept that spoonful of oatmeal.
Harrison fed her carefully, cooling each spoonful before giving it to her, his movements impossibly gentle.
After eating half the bowl, Miranda lost her appetite and shook her head. "I don't want anymore."
"Alright, then stop."
Harrison didn't force her. He set down the bowl and tucked the blanket around her. "Your body is still very weak. Sleep some more. I'll stay right here."
Miranda looked at the dark circles under his eyes. She moved her lips, wanting to tell him to go rest, but the words stuck in her throat.
She was truly exhausted, that bone-deep fatigue making it impossible to stay awake.
Before long, under the influence of the medication, Miranda fell asleep again.