Chapter 200
Elena: POV
Under the paramedics' calls, Lila slowly came to in my arms. She opened her eyes and saw me, then burst into tears with a loud wail.
I cradled Lila against my chest as the ambulance doors slammed shut, the metallic clang reverberating through my bones. Paramedics moved around Julian's stretcher with practiced efficiency, their voices a steady stream of medical jargon barely penetrating the roaring in my ears.
"BP dropping—90 over 60."
"Increase the saline drip."
Beside me, Ethan hunched against the wall, his face a mask of horror and guilt. Blood from his broken nose had dried on his shirt, but he seemed oblivious.
"This is my fault," he kept saying, the words tumbling out. "I brought her here. I led her to you. God, I'm so sorry—"
I pressed my lips to Lila's hair, trying to ignore the way my hands shook.
"Mommy," Lila whimpered against my shoulder. "Is the sad uncle going to die?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. The sad uncle. This man who'd destroyed me, who'd driven me to jump off a bridge. This man who'd also thrown himself in front of a knife for me without hesitation.
"I don't know, baby," I whispered. "The doctors are going to try really hard to help him."
She pulled back, her tear-stained face tilted up. "I don't want him to die."
Neither do I. The thought came unbidden, raw and terrifying. God help me, neither do I.
"Elena." Julian's voice was barely audible over the siren, but I heard it—heard the way it cracked around my name.
I shifted Lila to one hip and leaned over the stretcher. His face was gray, sheened with sweat, but his eyes were fixed on me with devastating intensity.
"I need you to know—" He coughed, and blood flecked his lips. "If I don't make it—"
"Don't." The word came out sharp, desperate. "Don't you dare say that."
"Listen to me." His hand found mine, slick with blood. "Lila. She's—"
"Alright, I admit she's yours; she has your nose, your mouth," I said, the words tearing free.
Something flickered in his expression—relief, maybe, or grief. "Take care of her. Promise me—"
"You're going to take care of her yourself," I interrupted, my voice rising. "You're going to survive this and be her father, because I can't—I can't do this alone again. I can't lose you twice."
The admission hung between us, raw and terrible. His eyes widened, and I saw understanding dawn—the realization that despite everything, some part of me still cared whether he lived or died.
"Elena," he breathed, and the way he said my name made something crack open in my chest.
"Sir, conserve your energy," a paramedic interjected, adjusting the oxygen mask.
But Julian's gaze never left mine. Through the plastic, I saw his lips form words I couldn't quite hear.
I love you.
The ambulance lurched to a stop. Suddenly we were moving—doors flying open, the stretcher rolling into harsh fluorescent lights, a trauma team swarming around Julian.
"Twenty——Enight male, stab wound to the left chest—"
"Get him to Trauma 2, stat!"
I tried to follow, but a nurse caught my arm. "Ma'am, you'll need to wait—"
"That's my—" I stopped. What was he? My ex-husband? My daughter's father? The man who'd broken me and somehow put some pieces back together?
"He's family," I said finally.
The nurse's expression softened. "I understand, but you need to let the doctors work. There's a waiting area just through those doors."
I wanted to argue, but Lila was clinging to me so tightly I could barely breathe, and I was still covered in Julian's blood.
"Okay," I heard myself say.
---
The waiting room had beige walls and uncomfortable plastic chairs. Ethan sank into one immediately, burying his face in his hands. I stood frozen, Lila's weight solid against my hip, trying to remember how to breathe.
He can't die. He can't die.
"Mommy?" Lila's voice cut through my thoughts. "Why is that sad uncle so sad all the time?"
I looked down at that cute little upturned nose—Julian's nose—and sank into a chair, settling her on my lap.
"Because he lost some people he loved very much. And sometimes, when you lose people, it makes you sad for a very long time."
Lila considered this seriously. "Like how sad you were, Mommy, when you were at the cemetery mourning my dead grandma?"
My breath caught. "Yes, baby. Like that."
Lila was quiet for a moment, then looked up at me. "Mommy, is the sad uncle my daddy?"
I glanced at Ethan, who was studiously examining his hands. Then I looked back at my daughter and knew I couldn't lie.
"Yes," I said softly. "He is."
Lila's face scrunched up. "But Uncle Alexander said he was my daddy."
Of course he did. The anger toward Alexander was a cold, hard thing in my chest.
"Uncle Alexander made a mistake," I said carefully. "Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes, even when they think they're doing the right thing."
"So the sad uncle is my real daddy?"
"Yes."
She absorbed this in silence. I braced for tears, for anger. Instead, she said, "Does that mean I can call him Daddy instead of sad uncle?"
The simplicity made my eyes burn with unshed tears.
"If that's what you want. But we should wait until he's feeling better to ask him, okay?"
"Okay." She nodded, then rested her head against my chest. "Mommy? When Daddy wakes up, can I give him a big hug? Maybe that will make him less sad."
When Daddy wakes up. Not if. She said it with absolute certainty.
God, I hope you're right.
"I think that's a wonderful idea, sweetheart."
She yawned, exhaustion finally catching up. "I'm sleepy."
"Close your eyes, baby. I'll wake you up when there's news."
She was asleep within minutes. I held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, trying to ground myself. My daughter was safe. Alive and whole.
But Julian—
A nurse appeared in the doorway, her scrubs splattered with blood.
"Are you here for Julian Sterling?" she asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"He's in surgery now. Dr. Morrison is the best trauma surgeon we have. He's going to do everything he can."
Everything he can. Not he'll be fine. Just everything he can.
"How long?" I asked.
"Hard to say. Could be a few hours. I'll come get you as soon as there's any update."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Ethan finally looked up.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "For all of it."
"Stop." I didn't have energy for his guilt. "What's done is done."
"But if I hadn't—"
"If you hadn't sent Julian that message, we'd both be dead right now," I interrupted. "So maybe save the self-flagellation for later."
He flinched but nodded.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
I heard what happened. Is Lila okay? Is Julian—
Alexander.
I deleted the message without responding and turned my phone face-down. I didn't have room for Alexander's guilt. Not when Julian was fighting for his life.
When Daddy wakes up, I'm going to give him a big hug.
Lila's words echoed in my mind. When. Not if.
I closed my eyes and tried to pray.
Please. Please let him live. Not for me—I don't deserve that mercy. But for her. For Lila. Let her have a father.
Please.
Minutes crawled by. Lila slept on, oblivious. Ethan sat in his corner, silent. And I sat there holding my daughter, staring at the door and waiting.
Exhaustion began to pull me under. Just for a minute, I told myself. I'll just close my eyes for a minute.
Please, I thought again. Please don't leave us.
Then, from somewhere far away, I heard it—the soft ding of an elevator.
My eyes flew open, heart leaping. The surgery. It had to be news. I started to stand, careful not to wake Lila—
But it wasn't a doctor.
It was my phone, buzzing insistently. The screen lit up:
ALEXANDER
Disappointment crashed over me. Not news about Julian. Just Alexander, demanding answers.