Chapter194 A Mental War
Outside the operating room, the cold seats provided no comfort. Just as despair was about to swallow Miranda whole, a sharp voice brought her back.
"Are you Christian’s family? You need to pay the initial surgery fees," a nurse said, handing her a slip.
The bill? Right. Payment.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, Miranda stood up mechanically. She took the slip and nodded. "Yes. I’m going now."
She needed to do something—anything to stop thinking about her brother’s life hanging by a thread inside that room.
The payment window was down a long corridor. Miranda walked like a ghost, her head buzzing with the nurse's words: The situation isn't great.
As she reached the window and pulled out her credit card, two doctors walked past. Their conversation was quiet, but a few words caught her ear.
"Did you hear? That guy from the crash earlier... it was bad. The whole front of the car was crushed."
"Yeah, lucky he got here when he did, or he’d be a goner."
Miranda’s grip on her card tightened until her knuckles turned white.
A slightly older doctor lowered his voice, sounding secretive. "I’m telling you, this wasn't an accident."
"What do you mean?"
"It was intentional!" the older doctor whispered. "My cousin is on the airport security team. He said this afternoon, the victim got into a huge fight with the Prescott heir at the airport over some woman. It was a nasty scene."
The rest of the words were muffled, but the keywords exploded in Miranda’s mind like thunder.
Prescott. Airport. Conflict.
Those separate pieces clicked together into a terrifying picture that chilled her to the bone. Her mind went blank. She stood frozen, the thin credit card feeling like a lead weight in her hand.
"Miss? Miss?" the clerk called out several times.
Finally, a nurse’s voice came from the ER. "Miranda! The doctor needs you!"
She snapped out of it, paid the bill frantically, and ran back to the surgery doors. Just as she arrived, the red light finally went out. The heavy doors opened, and Christian was wheeled out.
He was as pale as a sheet, his head wrapped in thick gauze. His right leg was elevated in a heavy cast, and he was hooked up to a rhythmic, beeping monitor. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he looked lifeless.
Miranda felt as if a hand had crushed her heart. She rushed forward. "Doctor! My brother... how is he?"
The lead surgeon removed his mask, looking exhausted. "The surgery was a success. We saved him."
Miranda’s nerves finally snapped. Her legs buckled, and she nearly hit the floor. The doctor caught her arm.
"He lost a lot of blood, but we can manage that with recovery. The main issue is his right leg—it’s a comminuted fracture. We’ve put in a steel plate, but he’ll be bedridden for at least three months."
Looking at the cast, Miranda couldn't stop the tears. She wiped them away quickly. As long as he was alive, nothing else mattered.
---
Miranda stayed by Christian’s side all night. She sat in the chair, eyes fixed on him, afraid he would disappear if she blinked.
At dawn, a loud crash woke her.
Clang!
She bolted upright. Her brother was awake, reaching for a water glass on the nightstand, but he had dropped it.
"Christian!" Miranda cried, jumping up. "Don't move! I’ve got it!"
She picked up the glass shards and poured him a fresh cup of warm water. "Let me help you up." She carefully propped him up against the pillows and held the cup to his lips.
He took a few sips, his voice rasping. "Miranda... why are you here?"
Her eyes welled up. "You were in a car accident. Do you remember?"
Christian frowned, trying to recall. The memory of the out-of-control truck slamming into him came back—the pain, the darkness. He truly thought he’d never see his mother or sister again.
He reached out a weak hand to pat her head and smiled. "I remember. I’m okay. Don't worry."
Seeing him try to act brave broke her heart. "Just lie down. The doctor said you’re on a liquid diet. I’ll go get some porridge from the cafeteria."
The hospital cafeteria was quiet. As she walked back with the bowl, the doctors' conversation played on a loop in her head.
Earlier that morning, the police had sent a preliminary report. They claimed the truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel due to fatigue. It sounded perfectly logical.
But every time Miranda thought of the words "Prescott" and "Airport," the report felt like a thin piece of paper trying to hide a massive fire. Her heart was in chaos.
Back in the room, she fed her brother spoon by spoon. He ate with focus, treasuring the simple food after coming so close to death.
Watching him, Miranda’s hand tightened on her skirt. She knew she shouldn't ask now, but the suspicion was like a thorn in her heart. She bit her lip and spoke softly, her voice trembling.
"Christian... yesterday at the airport... did you have a fight with Clifton?"
Christian paused mid-bite. He looked up at her, surprised. "Why are you asking that?"
Miranda didn't answer. She just looked at him with eyes full of fear and a desperate need for the truth.
Christian sighed and set down the spoon. "Yeah... I misunderstood him. I confronted him." His voice was calm, as if it were a minor thing. "But we cleared it up. I was just being impulsive. Why? Did he tell you?"
It was exactly what she had heard the doctors say.
The airport. The conflict. It was all real.
Miranda felt the world spinning. Her stomach churned with nausea. Her face turned even paler than her brother’s in the hospital bed.
In her mind, two voices were screaming at each other. One cried out, No! Clifton isn't like that! He’s too proud to use such dirty tactics!
But the other voice was cold and logical: Your brother fought with him at the airport, and an hour later, he’s nearly killed in an accident. Even the doctors know there was a grudge.
She felt like she was going to be sick.