Chapter 44
With each passing second, Alaric found himself trapped in an agonizing limbo, staring at the “In Surgery” sign on the door, his hands clenched tightly to his shirt. Please, Galatea, please be okay, he silently prayed to himself, feeling a pit of dread form in his stomach.
The emergency surgery stretched on for nearly six hours. By the time Galatea was wheeled out of the operating room, dawn had broken.
“Doctor, how is she?” Alaric asked, his voice trembling, barely able to contain his worry.
“She’s out of life-threatening danger, but she has multiple contusions and a traumatic brain injury,” the doctor explained. “We’ll have to wait until she wakes up to determine if there will be any cognitive or auditory impairments.”
Traumatic brain injury. The words sent a chill down Alaric’s spine, and his heart ached at the thought of Galatea suffering such a devastating injury.
He had requested the best room available, and Galatea was wheeled into it, still unconscious.
“When do you think she’ll wake up?” Alaric asked, his voice strained.
“With a coma induced by a brain injury, it’s hard to say. It could be a day, two, maybe three or four, or even longer,” the doctor replied. “Take good care of her and let us know if anything changes.”
Once the doctor left, the room was eerily quiet, just the two of them. Alaric sat by Galatea’s bed, her complexion ashen, and gently lifted her clothing to inspect her injuries. Her severe wounds had been bandaged, but the smaller wounds, stained red with blood, were hard to look at. It was jarring.
After checking her over, Alaric carefully covered her with the blanket, his heart heavy with sorrow. Please, Galatea, wake up soon.
He recalled his own long coma years ago—a three-year slumber that had left him with lingering issues. He couldn’t bear the thought of Galatea suffering the same fate.
Alaric stayed awake the whole night, watching over her. As the first light of dawn filtered through the window, Galatea still hadn’t stirred. With a heavy sigh, he checked the time and immediately dialed Silas Moon’s number.
“Find me the best private nurse, now!” he ordered sharply.
Within a short time, Silas sent a professional nurse to attend to Galatea. Alaric instructed, “I have to step out for a bit. Take good care of her. Call me immediately if she wakes up or if anything changes.”
“Understood, Mr. Knight,” the nurse replied.
Alaric left the hospital, determined to get to the bottom of what had happened. He drove straight to the police station.
“Mr. Knight, here’s the surveillance footage from the time of the incident. Please have a look.”
The footage was crystal clear. Galatea was seen walking briskly, nibbling on a sandwich, and Alaric felt an overwhelming surge of guilt.
He had assumed that she was late to their session because she hadn’t prioritized it. It never occurred to him that she might have been rushing to him directly after a busy shift at the hospital, too exhausted to even take a proper meal.
In the video, Galatea answered a phone call—his phone call—urging her to hurry. After she hung up, she seemed to speed up, rushing across the street intersection, and that’s when the accident occurred.
Alaric’s stomach churned. Was it right after my call that the accident happened? If I hadn’t been so insistent, could I have prevented this?
Seeing Alaric on the edge of a breakdown, the police paused the footage.
“The driver responsible has been apprehended. Preliminary findings suggest DUI.”
The footage made it clear. The pedestrian light was still green when the vehicle ran the red light, colliding with her after hitting a streetlamp that had slowed its momentum.
“The victim was lucky. The car hit the streetlamp first, slowing it down before it struck her. If not for that, the impact might have been fatal on the spot.”
Alaric seethed with rage. “Where is this driver? I want to see him now!”
“The driver is currently detained, Mr. Knight. I’m afraid you can’t see him yet.”
Just then, Alaric’s phone rang, interrupting the tension. It was a call from the intensive care unit. He immediately answered, his heart pounding. “Is Galatea awake?”
“No, Mr. Knight. Ms. Galatea’s condition has worsened.”
A fresh wave of panic swept over him, and Alaric rushed back to the hospital.
“What happened to Galatea?” he demanded upon arriving.
“Her wounds have gotten infected, causing a high fever.”
When Alaric had last seen Galatea, she was pale, but now her face was flushed with fever. She was clearly in intense discomfort. Her brows furrowed, lips parched, her body trembling slightly with the strain. Her features were twisted in pain—it was evident that she was suffering deeply.
“Doctor, how did the wounds get infected so suddenly?” Alaric asked, his voice taut with worry.
“It’s not uncommon after surgery,” the doctor replied. “We’re trying to avoid high-dose antipyretics unless absolutely necessary. A high dose could cause more harm.”
“What should we do?” Alaric pressed.
“We’ll start with physical methods to reduce her temperature. If there’s no improvement in three hours, we’ll have to administer the antipyretic.”
“Understood,” Alaric said, his voice steady despite the storm inside.
Once the doctors had treated Galatea’s infected wounds, Alaric asked everyone to leave the room. It was just him and her now.
He sat by her side, tenderly attending to her fever. With every movement, he was meticulous—so careful, so gentle, not wanting to hurt her in any way.
Maybe it was the pain, or maybe she was beginning to stir, but even though her eyes remained shut, tears began to flow down her face. Her body twitched slightly, as if she could feel the pain even in her unconscious state.
“Galatea, I know it hurts. Just hold on. It’ll be over soon. I’m here, right here.” Alaric murmured softly, unsure if she could hear him.
He wasn’t sure if she could sense him, but he kept talking anyway. His words became barely coherent as his emotions overwhelmed him.
Seeing her in such agony tore him apart. I wish I could take this pain from you, he thought desperately. I would endure it all again if I could just make you better.
“I’m sorry, Galatea. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have rushed you. Please, get better soon.” His voice cracked with regret, and the guilt he felt gnawed at him.
Alaric wiped her brow with a cool damp cloth, checking her temperature repeatedly. He lost count of how many times he had taken her temperature or wiped her face. Every time he checked, he hoped to see it drop, to see some sign of improvement.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her temperature started to stabilize. Alaric couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Doctor, her fever’s broken!” he exclaimed, a mix of relief and disbelief flooding him.
“That’s good,” the doctor said calmly, nodding. “While she’s unconscious, we’ll continue to keep her hydrated with glucose and nutrient IVs. She won’t be able to eat for 48 hours after waking up.”
Alaric’s heart ached as he thought about Galatea—already hungry before the accident and now unconscious, unable to eat for so much longer. He blamed himself, Why did I have to rush her? I could’ve just sent a car to pick her up…
Just then, his phone rang again, jolting him from his thoughts.