Chapter 57: The Night Before the Surgery
Chapter 57: The Night Before the Surgery
Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye.
The day of Ethan’s surgery had finally drawn near. The familiar hospital room once again welcomed the three of them—Leon, Camila, and the small but resilient boy.
That night, the door to the ward creaked open, spilling a shard of cold light from the hallway. The surgeon entered with two nurses, their faces solemn, their steps steady.
“Forgive me for disturbing your rest,” the doctor’s low voice filled the room as he glanced over the medical files while approaching Ethan’s bed. “I need to run a final check before tomorrow’s operation.”
Ethan looked up, a flicker of tension in his eyes, but Camila gently smoothed his hair, whispering:
“It’s all right, darling, just a little while.”
Leon stood close to the bed, gaze following every movement. A nurse carefully measured Ethan’s blood pressure, jotting it down, while another drew a small sample of blood. Ethan winced ever so slightly.
Leon’s fist clenched unconsciously, knuckles paling. The surgeon noticed, and with a faint smile meant to soothe, said:
“Ethan is doing very well. He’s a brave boy. Just one more step, and tomorrow he will walk into surgery—on his way to becoming healthy again.”
Ethan nodded silently, eyes glimmering with hope, as though they were saying: I’ll try my best.
The doctor then turned to Camila, eyes dropping to her file.
“As for you, Miss Camila, the test results confirm your marrow is a perfect match. But let me remind you: tomorrow, you must rest well, sleep early, and eat lightly to preserve your strength. Donating marrow is generally safe, but you may feel weak for several days afterward.”
Camila’s lips curved into a fragile smile, one meant more to hide her fear than show reassurance.
“I understand, doctor. I’ll do my best.”
The doctor nodded, then glanced at Leon. His voice was steady, deliberate—like driving a nail into stone:
“Mr. Leon, tomorrow, you are the anchor for both of them. Your son will feel everything—the worry, the fear—through the adults around him. That’s why… you must remain calm.”
Leon answered hoarsely, but with a firmness that sounded like an oath etched into his very heart:
“I know. I’ll be here. Every second, every moment.”
Closing the file, the doctor exhaled softly, as if trying to release a fraction of the heavy air lingering in the room.
“Good. Then please, rest early. Tomorrow, everything will be prepared with the utmost care.”
They bowed lightly. The nurses gathered their equipment, and the medical team left. The door shut behind them. Silence reclaimed the room, leaving only the three of them—and their unspoken fears.
Ethan lay on the bed, wide-eyed, listening to every word. He had also seen it—the glisten of tears still clinging at the corner of Camila’s eye.
“Mom…” Ethan hesitated, his young voice cutting through the heavy air like a blade. “Is it true that tomorrow I’ll have surgery?”
Before Camila could respond, Leon stepped closer, his large hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. His voice was steady, though it trembled faintly at the end:
“Yes, son. But once tomorrow is over, your illness will finally be gone.”
Ethan smiled—a pure smile, like moonlight breaking into ripples on water. He turned to his mother, clutching her trembling hand.
“Then you should be happy, Mom. Why are you crying?”
Camila bit her lip, swallowing back the knot in her throat, before leaning down to whisper:
“I’m crying… because my little boy is about to be healthy again.”
Ethan sat up suddenly, his small arms wrapping around her. His soft hair brushed against Camila’s damp cheek.
“Then don’t cry anymore. Once I’m better, I’ll be the captain. I’ll protect you from all the bad guys.”
Leon stood watching, the corner of his lips lifting into a rare smile—even he was startled by it. For that fleeting instant, fear dissolved, as if blown away like smoke.
The clock on the wall ticked, reminding them of time slipping away. Leon knelt down, gently pulling Ethan from Camila’s arms, and pressed his forehead against his son’s.
“My little captain, to prepare for tomorrow’s battle, you need to sleep early tonight. Only then will you have enough strength to fight.”
Ethan nodded obediently, like a little soldier. He had no idea that the small bandage on his hand was wringing Leon’s heart tighter than anything. Leon held his son close for a long time, whispering silently to himself: Just one more day… and you’ll be free from the shadow of cancer. You’ll be a child again—healthy, whole.
The room sank into quiet as Ethan drifted into sleep.
The main lights dimmed completely, leaving only a flickering night lamp, painting pale streaks of gold across the cold white wall. Leon and Camila sat on the sofa, the silence so fragile that even their breathing seemed loud.
Leon rose, poured a cup of warm water, and placed it into Camila’s hands.
“Drink. It’ll help.”
Camila accepted it softly, murmuring:
“Thank you…”
Her smile was delicate, fragile as a paper sheet against the wind.
Leon sat back down, letting her lean her head on his shoulder. His arm tightened around her frail frame, his hand closing over her cold fingers.
“Your hands are freezing, Camila.”
Camila fidgeted slightly, whispering:
“I… I don’t know why. Maybe it’s just the nerves.”
Leon gently traced her fingers, as if trying to transfer warmth into her. After a moment, he asked quietly:
“Are you afraid?”
She was silent, eyes drifting into the distance as though piercing through the white walls.
“More than being afraid of the surgery itself… I’m only afraid our son won’t be saved.”
Leon lowered his head, resting his chin atop her hair. His voice was deep, steady, a promise carved from stone:
“Don’t worry. I’ve arranged the best for Ethan—from the doctors, to the surgery, to every detail of care. Everything will be perfect.”
Camila nodded faintly. But then, after a pause, her voice dropped—soft as the stir of a breeze:
“Leon… if something ever happens to me, promise me you’ll take good care of Ethan.”
Leon froze. His brows furrowed, eyes drilling into hers.
“Why would you say that? Bone marrow donation is a minor procedure. Or… are you hiding something from me?”
Camila forced a thin smile, her shimmering eyes dodging his gaze.
“No… you know I’m no expert in medicine. Maybe I’m just overthinking.”
Leon remained doubtful, but Camila leaned closer, burying herself into his arms. Her voice trembled:
“Tonight, I just want to stay like this. I just want to fall asleep in your embrace. Can I?”
Leon gazed down at her, the woman he loved to his very core.
“You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”
Her answer was gentle, her eyes glinting with a hidden secret:
“I’m sure…”
And so they held each other, letting the night swallow them whole, their shared warmth the only refuge before the storm of tomorrow.