Chapter 84 Behind the Glass
BELLA
The cool sterility of the hospital air hit me the moment we stepped inside, the faint smell of disinfectant clinging to my nose. David’s fingers brushed mine as we walked, snapping me out of my thoughts. He held out a picture, his expression unreadable.
“This is your father,” he said, watching my face as if gauging my reaction.
I took the photo with trembling fingers, schooling my features into neutrality. If he had any inkling that my memories were back, he didn’t show it. I studied the image of the man who’d raised me, my chest tightening. I couldn’t afford to let my emotions slip not now.
David’s voice broke through the silence. “I thought it would help to remind you of who he is.”
I nodded faintly, playing along. His words were sharp reminders of the betrayal still fresh in my mind. Lizzy’s face flashed before me, and the weight of David’s actions pressed against my chest. If only I knew why he had been with her that night, maybe I could forgive him. Maybe.
A group of doctors approached, their crisp uniforms and hurried steps catching my attention.
“Mr. Copperfield,” one of them greeted with a slight bow. The man at the front, likely their head, offered a reassuring but grim smile. “We’re ready to proceed. The surgery will take about six hours, and I must warn you that the survival rate is low. But we will do everything in our power.”
David nodded, his jaw tightening. “That’s not an option. He survives.”
The head surgeon hesitated before nodding firmly. “Understood. If you wish, you can view the operation from the observation area. It’s a glass-enclosed room above the theater.”
David turned to me, his eyes searching. “Do you want to watch?”
The thought of seeing my father so vulnerable sent a chill down my spine. But I swallowed my fear, nodding.
“Alright,” he said softly, taking my hand.
I followed him in silence, my heels clicking against the polished floor. The observation room loomed ahead, its stark glass wall revealing the bright, sterile chaos below. I stopped just short of the glass, my breath hitching as my eyes landed on my father.
He was lying motionless on the operating table, the harsh overhead lights illuminating every line of his face. Machines beeped rhythmically around him, a cruel reminder of how fragile life truly was. Beside him, the donor was being prepped, face down, their body equally still.
I bit my lip as I watched the surgeons insert a hollow needle into the donor’s pelvic bone, extracting the liquid marrow. My stomach churned at the sight, but I couldn’t look away. The extracted marrow was processed quickly, a team of professionals moving with practiced precision.
When they began infusing it into my father through an IV, my heart pounded so loudly I was sure David could hear it. At first, everything seemed fine. The monitor beeped steadily, the green lines a hopeful rhythm.
Then the beeping slowed.
My stomach dropped as the room below erupted into chaos. Doctors rushed around, voices raised in panic, their movements frantic. The green lines on the monitor flattened, and my vision blurred with tears.
“No,” I whispered, stepping back instinctively. My knees felt weak, my body trembling as I gripped the edge of the glass for support.
David’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. I stiffened at his touch, but the fear gripping me overpowered everything else.
“Stay calm,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “He’s going to be fine.”
I wanted to believe him, but the sound of the slowing beeps drowned out his words. My father’s life was slipping away right before my eyes, and there was nothing I could do. Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them away.
“Don’t let him die,” I begged quietly, though I wasn’t sure who I was pleading with the doctors, God, or the universe itself.
Then, as suddenly as it had slowed, the monitor’s rhythm picked up again. The green lines spiked back to life, the beeping strong and steady.
I let out a shuddering breath, the weight on my chest lifting. Relief coursed through me, and before I knew it, I was hugging David tightly.
“He’s going to make it,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
David didn’t say anything, just held me close as we both stared at the scene below. The surgeons moved with renewed focus, their movements methodical as they finished the procedure.
Five hours later, the head surgeon approached us, his face lined with exhaustion but lit with a small, triumphant smile.
“The surgery was successful,” he said. “He’s stable and recovering in his room now. You can see him if you’d like.”
I didn’t wait for further instructions. My heels clicked loudly against the floor as I rushed down the hallway, ignoring the stares of passing staff.
When I reached my father’s room, I paused in the doorway, my breath catching. He looked so frail, his face pale and his body hooked up to countless machines. But he was alive.
Tears welled up again as I stepped inside. The sound of the machines around him was oddly comforting now, a testament to his survival.
“We should celebrate this at the party,” David’s voice said from behind me.
I turned to him, startled. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his words planted a seed of doubt. Why was he so eager to hold this party?
“Uh, yes,” I replied, forcing a smile. The weight of my father’s survival had temporarily dulled my suspicions, but they lingered at the back of my mind.
Even as I hugged David again, my father’s recovery gave me hope. But I couldn’t ignore the sense of foreboding creeping in. In this world of powerful men and hidden motives, I had learned one thing: trust no one.