Chapter 164 Long Wait and Undying Hope

Chapter 164 Long Wait and Undying Hope
Christina: POV

The ambulance ride was a blur.

Patrick's blood soaked through my clothes as I clutched his limp hand.

His face was deathly pale, and the paramedics' expressions did nothing to calm my racing heart.

"Stay with me, Patrick," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"Please don't leave me."

When we arrived at the hospital, they rushed him away, leaving me alone in the sterile waiting room.

The emergency room's red light burned into my retinas, a cruel reminder of the danger Patrick was in.

Around me, medical staff rushed back and forth while I sat frozen, curled up on an uncomfortable chair.

My trembling fingers kept refreshing my phone screen, trying to reach Patrick's family.

The hospital's white walls and the sharp smell of disinfectant made it hard to breathe.

Time seemed to stand still in this place of life and death.

Hours later, a doctor finally emerged, his face a mask of professional neutrality.

"Ms. Parker? Mr. Brown has stabilized and is out of immediate danger," he said, and I nearly collapsed with relief.

"However, his condition is still critical.

Whether he wakes up depends on his status today.

If he doesn't regain consciousness by tomorrow, I'm afraid he may have entered a vegetative state."

The medical terminology that followed cut through me like knives – "intracranial pressure," "traumatic brain injury," "Glasgow Coma Scale."

I signed consent forms with shaking hands, barely registering what I was agreeing to.

When they finally allowed me into Patrick's room, the sight of him surrounded by beeping machines and monitoring equipment shocked me to my core.

His strong, vibrant presence was reduced to a still figure on white sheets, his chest rising and falling with mechanical precision.

I sat beside him, taking his hand in mine.

"Hey there, tough guy," I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady.

"You need to wake up, okay?

You can't just kiss me like that last night and then check out on me."

As night fell, I refused to leave.

I curled up on the hard chair next to his bed, my fingers intertwined with his.

The nurses tried to convince me to go home, but I couldn't bear the thought of him waking up alone.

In the quiet darkness, I told him stories – how we met in Colorado, our reunion in New York, the way he looked at me when I wore those ridiculous fox ears.

I recalled every detail, hoping somehow my voice would guide him back.

"Remember that first day in Aspen?

You thought I was crazy for skiing down that black diamond trail," I murmured.

"I need you to be that fearless again, Patrick.

I need you to fight your way back to me."

A night nurse found me asleep with my head on the edge of his bed.

She gently draped a blanket over my shoulders, her eyes full of pity.

I woke from a nightmare just before dawn, gasping for breath.

I'd dreamed Patrick was calling my name, but I couldn't reach him.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds as I pressed my lips to his hand.

"I'll be here when you wake up," I promised.

"I'm not going anywhere."

But he didn't wake up.

The next day, the doctor returned, his expression grim.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Parker.

Mr. Brown has entered a vegetative state.

His brain shows activity, but there's no sign of consciousness."

My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, my back against the cold wall.

Tears streamed down my face as the doctor explained what this meant, how unpredictable recovery could be.

Through my tears, I looked up at Patrick's peaceful face.

"He'll wake up," I said, my voice stronger than I felt.

"I know he will."

The Brown family arrived the next day in a flurry of expensive cars and worried faces.

Patrick's grandfather, the imposing Brown Sr., immediately began questioning the medical team.

Elizabeth, Patrick's mother, rushed to her son's bedside, tears in her eyes as she gently touched his forehead.

Brandon stood silently in the corner, discreetly wiping away tears.

When they noticed me, I couldn't stop apologizing.

"I'm so sorry.

This is all my fault.

If my parents hadn't–"

To my surprise, Elizabeth embraced me.

"We don't blame you, dear.

Patrick was a police officer before.

Rushing to help people in danger is his instinct."

Brandon nodded.

"My son chooses who he protects.

He's always been that way."

My tears soaked Elizabeth's silk blouse.

"But they weren't worth saving.

Those people... they're not worth his life."

Elizabeth's hand rubbed gentle circles on my back.

"What's done is done," she said softly.

"We believe Patrick will wake up someday, but we don't know when that might be."

She pulled back, holding my shoulders.

"I don't want you trapping yourself here because of Patrick.

That's not what he would want.

He loves you, and he'd want you to be happy."

Brown Sr. nodded.

"We'll arrange for the best care.

You should continue your life and career."

"You could find someone else," Elizabeth suggested gently.

"He would understand."

I looked at Patrick's still form and felt a fierce certainty burning in my chest.

"Thank you for your kindness.

I'll pull myself together."

Brandon said sincerely, "You can find another path.

He wouldn't want you to waste your life waiting."

I shook my head.

"I'll stay with him.

I don't want anyone else."

They squeezed my shoulders before leaving, their faces a mixture of sadness and respect.

Jane and Ethan visited a few days later, bringing flowers and quiet support.

Jane hugged me tightly, then set about organizing the room while Ethan spoke with the hospital administration.

"You need some sunlight," Jane insisted, dragging me to the hospital garden for a few minutes.

"Patrick would kick my ass if I let you turn into a ghost."

Back in the room, after they left, I held Patrick's hand again.

"You're such an idiot," I whispered.

"I know you wanted to marry me.

I kept pushing it away because I had a horrible family and a shameful father.

But I never expected to find someone like you – someone real, someone who really loves all of me."

Tears fell onto our joined hands.

"Wake up, okay?

Wake up, and I'll marry you.

Or you can marry me, I don't care which.

We'll be happy, I promise."

I told him about my parents, how I'd recorded their extortion attempt.

"They've been arrested and charged... According to the lawyer, Dad is looking at fifteen years minimum, and Mom won't escape as an accomplice either.

I was smarter than they thought.

I recorded everything when they tried to extort money from you."

My thumb traced circles on his palm.

"Can you hear me?

I think you can.

Don't get annoyed with me, okay?

I don't talk this much to just anyone."

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

A month passed.

My design business thrived, though I split my time between my studio and Patrick's hospital room.

I'd set up a small workstation next to his bed, sketching designs while talking to him about my day.

Every morning, I read him the newspaper.

Every evening, I told him about the world outside – Jane's pregnancy, my design awards, the changing seasons.

The nurses all knew me by name now.

Some would bring me coffee or save me a sandwich from the cafeteria.

One afternoon, while holding Patrick's hand and describing a difficult client, I noticed his other hand twitch slightly.

His eyebrows furrowed almost imperceptibly.

My heart leaped into my throat.

I pressed the call button frantically, not daring to look away from his face.

"I just saw his hand move!" I told the doctor who rushed in.

"And his eyebrows – they moved too.

Is he waking up?

Is he finally coming back to me?"