Chapter 29 I Guess He Saved Me Too
KARA'S POV
The doctor’s words echo again in my head, slower this time, heavier.
“Your dad is diagnosed with severe anemia,” he repeats gently when I ask him to explain it again, like I’m hoping the meaning will change if I hear it twice. “His red blood cell count is dangerously low that’s why he collapsed. His body has been exhausted for a long time.”
A long time. I nod even though my throat feels too tight to speak. When he leaves, Manang Milda sits beside me, wringing her hands together like she’s been holding something back all along.
“Kara…” she starts as her voice is hesitant.
I turn to her. “What is it?”
She hesitates, then sighs, defeated. “Your father doesn’t sleep much anymore.”
Then my chest sinks.
“He stays up late finishing commissions, fixing things for people even when his body is already tired,” she continues, her voice breaking. “And sometimes… sometimes he drinks at night. Not to be happy, but just to sleep.”
The words hit me harder than anything else today.
“He promised me before,” I whisper. “He promised he would stop.”
“He tried,” she says quickly. “He really did. But when your mother died…” Her voice cracks completely this time. “He never loved anyone again. You were his whole world, Kara. When you left, he didn’t complain, but he became very quiet.”
Tears spill before I can stop them.
“He never told me,” I say, shaking my head. “Not once.”
“That’s because he didn’t want to worry you,” Manang Milda says, gripping my hand tightly. “He always says, ‘My daughter has her own life now. I don’t want to be a burden.’”
I cover my face, sobbing openly now.
“I’m his only daughter,” I choke. “I should’ve known and I should’ve seen it.”
Manang Milda pulls me into her arms again, rocking me gently like she used to when I was younger. “You are not blind, Kara. You were just trusting the man who raised you.”
The doctor’s words come back to me, sharp and urgent. Daddy need four bags of A+ blood and it will save him for real.
I straighten suddenly, wiping my tears. “I can donate,” I say quickly. “I’m his daughter. Use mine.”
Manang Milda looks hopeful, like she’s been waiting for me to say that. When the nurse comes back, I grab onto that hope with both hands.
“I want to donate blood,” I tell her firmly. “For my father.”
She gives me a small smile. “We’ll test you first.”
The waiting is torture and when the results come back, the nurse’s expression changes and apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Your blood type doesn’t match your father’s.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“You’re not A+,” she explains gently. “You can’t donate directly to him.”
Confusion crashes into me, mixed with panic. “But I’m his daughter.”
“Blood types don’t always match,” she says. “It happens always, miss Viancé.”
The words feel unreal, like another cruel joke stacked onto an already unbearable day. For a moment, I can’t breathe. Then I shake my head, forcing myself to stand. This is not the time to fall apart.
“Okay,” I say hoarsely. “Then I’ll find donors. I’ll find anyone.”
“Kara—” Manang Milda starts but I cut her off.
“I will,” I insist, already pulling out my phone with trembling hands. “The hospital ran out of stock, right? Then I’ll look for people.”
I start calling for friends, old classmates, and numbers I haven’t touched in years. My voice cracks with every explanation.
“My dad needs blood,” I say over and over. “A+ type. Please, if you know anyone. Please let me know."
Some don’t answer, some apologize helplessly, and some promise to ask around. Tears drip onto my screen, blurring the names, but I don’t stop.
I post, I message, and I beg.
“I’ll do anything,” I whisper to myself between sobs. “Just don’t take him from me.”
Manang Milda watches me with watery eyes, silently praying alongside me. When I finally sit back down, my body feels hollow, like everything inside me has been poured out onto this hospital floor. I look toward the emergency room doors again as my hands clasped tightly together.
“Please hold on, dad,” I whisper. “I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”
For the first time in years, I realize how fragile the word later really is and how love, no matter how quiet or unspoken, can still bleed silently until it almost disappears.
The next day crawls by in fragments. Every hour feels like a negotiation with fate, every vibration of my phone a small betrayal when it isn’t the call I’m waiting for. I still haven’t found anyone. Not one confirmed A+ donor willing and able to come in time. Promises turn into apologies I nod at messages like they can see me, thanking people through clenched teeth, swallowing the panic that keeps rising no matter how hard I try to push it down.
By afternoon, exhaustion settles deep into my bones. I bring myself back to the hospital anyway, carrying a bag of food and fruits I barely remember buying. Soup, bananas, and apples. Things my dad used to remind me to eat whenever I got sick, like nourishment alone could solve everything.
The hallway outside his room smells faintly of antiseptic and quiet prayers. I slow down as I reach the door, my hand lifting to knock, then stopping.
Because I hear laughter. Warm and familiar laughter.
My father’s.
I freeze as my fingers curling slowly against the plastic bag. He hasn’t laughed like that in days, maybe longer. Carefully, I lean closer as my heart thudding in my chest.
“I’m telling you,” my dad says, amusement thick in his voice, “she was already stubborn even as a child. If she wanted something, there was no stopping her.”
A low chuckle follows. “I can see that,” a man replies. “She hasn’t changed much.”
That voice and my breath catches.
“No,” my dad continues fondly, “she just pretends she’s tougher now. But she still cries easily, especially when she thinks no one’s watching.”
My throat tightens.
“I figured,” the man says, gentle now. “She cares deeply, she just carries it quietly.”
There’s a pause, then my dad sighs. “You know her well.”
“Well enough,” Finnian says.
It's Finnian!
I stand there, stunned as my mind scrambling to catch up with what my ears are telling me. He’s inside with my dad. Talking like this isn’t the first time. Like they’ve known each other for years instead of days.
“How did you meet her?” my dad asks curiously.
“During a night party,” Finnian answers easily. “She pretended not to like me at first.”
My dad laughs again, louder this time. “That means she liked you already.”
Something in my chest twists painfully, sweet and overwhelming all at once.
“I didn’t expect her to leave home so early,” my dad continues more quietly. “But I was proud, I still am.”
“You raised her well,” Finnian says, no hesitation. “She’s strong even when she doesn’t realize it.”
Silence follows, thick and meaningful.
I can’t stand it anymore. I fake a cough, stepping back just enough to make it sound natural. The laughter inside stops immediately.
“Kara?” my dad calls out.
I push the door open.
“There you are,” he says, smiling the moment he sees me.
I drop everything and cross the room in two steps, wrapping my arms around him carefully, afraid to hurt him and afraid to let go.
“Dad,” I whisper as my voice is breaking. “I missed you.”
He hugs me back with what strength he has, his hand patting my hair the way he used to when I was little. “I’m okay. Look at me.”
I pull back just enough to see his face. He looks tired, paler than usual, but his eyes are bright and alive.
“I brought food,” I say quickly, wiping my tears. “Soup and fruits. You need to eat properly now, okay?”
He smiles.
“Yes, boss.”
A soft whistle comes from the side. I turn and finally look at Finnian. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually, and expression is unreadable as always. And then I see it, the cotton taped to the inside of his arm.
My breath stutters. “What’s that?”
He glances down, then back at me, lips quirking. “This?”
I look at my dad, confused. “Dad?”
My dad’s smile widens. “He donated blood.”
My heart stops. “What?”
Finnian shrugs lightly. “Turns out I’m A+.”
“And Ma’am Arroi too,” my dad adds gently. “They both matched me, two bags each.”
The room blurs.
“You—” I look back at Finnian, tears spilling before I can stop them. “You did that?”
He meets my gaze steadily. “Of course.”
“Why?” My voice cracks completely.
“Because you were running out of time,” he says simply. “And because he’s your father.”
That’s all it takes.
I break down, sobbing as I cling to my dad again, careful but desperate. “Thank you,” I cry. “Thank you. Thank you.”
My dad holds me, his own eyes glossy now. “See? You’re not alone.”
I pull back and, without thinking, I hug Finnian too. It’s brief and clumsy and soaked in tears, but he doesn’t pull away. One hand rests lightly on my back, grounding. The doctor comes in shortly after, explaining that the transfusion will take place later once final tests are done. Words blur together, but hope finally settles in my chest, fragile but real. As they leave, I sit between my dad and Finnian, holding my father’s hand tightly. For the first time since this nightmare began, I allow myself to breathe.
Later doesn’t feel so terrifying now because somehow, when I was about to lose everything, the man I never expected showed up and gave my father his blood. And maybe, without meaning to, he saved me too.