Chapter 103 A father's vow

Chapter 103 A father's vow
CHAPTER 103: A father's vow

Silas

Chauncey held the shrilling device in his hand, unsure of what to do. The sound of his nervous shuffling as paced behind me was the only sound I heard as I kept my gaze fixed on the red light about the OR.

“Do you think she suspects that something is wrong with her sister?”

I didn’t turn my head from the closed doors of the trauma unit. “Take the call. But you can't tell her about what happened to Vera. Not a word.”

It would do no good to have her worrying or coming here when we didn't know the current situation. I knew that Vera would want the same as well.

I turned around to look at him.

Chauncey picked the call, his voice steady and not giving anything away. He was close enough that I could hear the chirpy, distant sound of Lily’s voice… bright and oblivious.

“Lily.”

“Hi… so i just wanted to say thank you once again for tonight. I had fun.”

“You're welcome. It's not a problem. Thank you for coming too.”

“Are you still at the gallery?”she asked, her tone curious. Chauncey’s gaze found mine. Before he could reply, she added, “will you invite me to your future exhibitions? I really loved the experience today.”

“Of course, Lily,” he replied, his eyes holding mine for a fleeting, haunted second. “You’re always welcome to critique my work anytime,” he added with a touch of humour.

She giggled. “Oh no, I'm afraid, I'm that much of an art connoisseur yet.”

“It just takes one day.”

There was a brief silence.

“Are you with… Cherry?”

Chauncey frowned, surprised by the question. “No,” he replied, his brows furrowed. “Is there a problem?”

“No—no, it's nothing, really,” she replied hastily. “You know what? Just never mind.”

“Is there anything else? Is that the only reason you called?”

“Yes,” she chirped, unaware that her sister and her nephew were probably fighting for their lives at this point. “Is there anything else?”

I shook my head, a sign which my brother immediately understood.

“No. It's nothing. I've got to go, kiddo. I'm busy at the moment.”

“Alright. Take care,” she sounded deflated.

He ended the call and stared at me, a reflective look on his face. “She never even asked about her sister. She was not worried that her sister was not home.”

I didn't respond. I couldn't. There was no room in my mind to think about the call. All my focus was tethered to the red light above the door.

When it finally flickered off, the silence of the hallway felt heavy enough to crush me. Even Chauncey drew closer, expectantly waiting for the doctor’s appearance. We didn't have to wait for long, because the door swung open, and he emerged, stripping off his surgical mask.

“What is happening?”

“Mr Rutherford, your wife is stable,” he replied.

The air rushed back into my lungs so sharply it felt like a physical blow. I didn't realise that I had been holding my breath for so long until I could finally breathe. The crushing weight on my chest also eased just enough for me to feel my heart thumping against my ribcage.

But Chauncey didn't let the silence linger.
“And the baby? What about the child?”

The doctor's expression shifted, and my heart skipped a beat.

“Did the child survive?” I asked.

“The baby is still alive.” Another wave of relief hit me. “However, the trauma your wife suffered was severe.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, the ice returning to my veins.

“She has suffered a placental abruption due to the repeated blows to her abdomen."

“What does that mean?” Chauncey demanded, at loss with the medical terms.

“It's a serious pregnancy condition where the placenta partially or completely detaches from the wall of the uterus before the baby is born.”

“That sounds serious,” Chauncey muttered, looking at me.

“What are the chances?” I asked.

“It’s a partial case for now, sir, but the situation is precarious,” he added, pensively. “She’s just entering her second trimester, and the child cannot survive outside the womb at this stage. This is now a critically high-risk pregnancy.”

A foreign, suffocating feeling of fear crept into my heart, a coldness that even my rage couldn't melt away. I thought it was all over, but the baby was still in a gray area.

“What can we do?” Chauncey asked, his voice low.

“Bedrest,” the doctor stated firmly. “I recommend absolute and total bedrest from now until the end of her pregnancy. Any stress, or further trauma, or even physical exertion, then we could lose the child instantly.”

“It will be done,” I promised, my voice a low, lethal vow. “Do everything in your power, doctor, to ensure that they are both okay. I don't care about the cost or the resources.”

“We'll do our best, sir.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’s heavily sedated, but you can go in. Excuse me,” he said and left.

Chauncey pressed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Go ahead. I'll wait right here.”

I stepped into the room, and the sight of her nearly snapped my restraint in half.

She looked so pale, almost as if she was made of porcelain as she laid back against the pristine white sheets. Her face was a canvas of angry red, purple and blue bruises. Her lip was split, and her face was swollen from all the hits she had taken from that bastard. Her arms were not left out either. And I was sure that there were more bruises hidden underneath the sheets and the hospital gown she wore.

A deep, terrifying rage, so intense it felt like liquid fire, surged through me, almost blinding me.

He had dared to lay a hand on my wife. My pregnant wife.

He hadn't just hurt my wife—he had almost killed my child…our child.

Vera didn't know the truth yet, but the child in her womb was my flesh and blood,
and I'd be damned if I let someone hurt him.

Damien had unleashed the beast and now, he was hungry for blood and revenge.

I moved to the side of the bed, and lowered, my hands trembling as I reached out to the gentle curve of her womb.

“Thank you for still hanging in there,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotions. “I’m here, and I promise that I’m going to protect you.” I looked at Vera’s face. “You and your mother.” I splayed my hand over her womb, “I love you... more than I ever thought possible,” I whispered to the small bump, overcome with emotion.

I leaned closer, my eyes dark with a promise of the violence to come. “And the man who did this to you? The one who put you in this room? I promise you, little one... he is going to feel every ounce of my wrath.”