Ethan kept pace beside the wheelchair, his hand finding Victoria’s where it gripped the armrest. She held on like he was the only solid thing in a tilting world. Outside the imaging suite, they had to stop. The technician was apologetic but firm. No one beyond this point except the patient. Ethan crouched beside Victoria’s wheelchair, making sure she could see his face clearly.
This is where I have to wait, he said. But I’ll be right here when you come out, 10 ft away, maximum. You understand? Victoria nodded, but her grip on his hand tightened. What if? No whatifs. Just focus on getting through the scan. They’re going to slide you into a machine that looks like a giant donut. It’s going to make some weird noises and then they’re going to have answers.
That’s it. Simple. Nothing about this is simple. Fair point. He managed to smile. But you’ve got this. You faced down investors and competitors and built something incredible from nothing. A CT scan is nothing compared to that. She laughed, the sound wavering, but real. You’re a terrible liar, but I appreciate the effort.
I’ll be right here, he repeated. The second you’re done, I’m back. Okay. Okay. They wheeled her through the doors and Ethan watched until she disappeared around a corner. Then he leaned against the wall, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was, how completely soaked his clothes remained, how much adrenaline had been keeping him upright. His phone buzzed.
A text from Mrs. Chen. Everything’s still good. Maya hasn’t stirred. Take your time. Ethan typed back a quick thank you, then slid down the wall to sit on the floor. The hospital corridor was quiet here, away from the main ER. He could hear the distant sounds of medical equipment, muffled conversations, the occasional overhead page.
All of it achingly familiar from those terrible hours 3 years ago when he’d sat in a different corridor in a different hospital, waiting for news that never came. But this was different. This time he’d acted. This time he hadn’t let fear paralyze him. This time, sir. Ethan looked up to find a nurse standing over him. Yes. The patient’s asking for you.
She’s getting agitated and we need her to stay still for the scan. Would you mind coming in? You can stand behind the lead shield. Talk to her through the intercom. He was on his feet instantly. Of course. The nurse led him into the control room where the technician sat at a bank of monitors.
Through the window, Ethan could see Victoria on the scanning table, her face pale against the white sheet, her eyes squeezed shut. The technician handed him a microphone. Just talk to her. Help her stay calm. We’ll do the rest. Ethan pressed the button. Hey, Victoria. It’s Ethan. Her eyes flew open, searching for him, even though she couldn’t see through the one-way glass.
I’m right here, just like I promised. I can see you, and you’re doing great. I don’t feel great. Her voice came through the speaker, thin and scared. I feel like I’m about to fall apart. Then fall apart. I’ll help you put the pieces back together after. But right now, you just need to hold still for a few more minutes. Can you do that? I think so.
I know. So, you’re the strongest person I’ve met, Victoria Hail. This machine’s got nothing on you. The technician started the scan, and the massive doughnut-shaped machine hummed to life. Ethan kept talking, kept his voice steady and calm, telling Victoria about Maya’s latest school project, about the ancient Volvo he’d been working on, about anything and everything that might distract her from the fear and the pain and the terrible vulnerability of being a patient. The scan took 12 minutes.
12 minutes that felt like hours, but also passed in a blur of Ethan’s voice and the machine’s mechanical rhythm. When it was done, they brought Victoria back out and Ethan was there waiting, his hand finding hers immediately. “You did it,” he said. “All done. Now what?” “Now we wait for the results.
” And then he paused as the young doctor from earlier approached, a tablet in his hands and a serious expression on his face. “M Hail,” the doctor said, “I need to speak with you about your scan results.” Victoria’s grip on Ethan’s hand became almost painful. Just tell me, hell. The doctor glanced at Ethan, then back to Victoria. It’s your appendix.
Acutely inflamed, on the verge of rupture, if it hasn’t already. You need surgery immediately. We’ve already called the surgical team. They’re prepping an O now. The words hung in the air like a verdict. Victoria’s face had gone even paler, if that was possible. You mean I was right? Ethan said quietly to her. It was appendicitis.
You were right. Victoria’s voice was barely a whisper. You saved my life. Not yet, but they will. He looked at the doctor. How long until surgery? 20 minutes, maybe less. We’re moving fast because of the risk of rupture. The doctor turned back to Victoria. I know this is scary, Miss Hail, but apppendecttomies are one of the most common surgeries we perform.
The surgical team is excellent, and your prognosis is very good. Assuming we get you into surgery soon. Victoria nodded mechanically, but Ethan could see she was shutting down, the fear overwhelming everything else. He crouched beside her wheelchair again, forcing her to look at him. Hey, stay with me.
Don’t go into your head right now. They’re going to cut me open. They’re going to save your life. There’s a difference. I can’t do this. I changed my mind. I want to leave, Victoria. I want to leave. Her voice rose, panic clear and sharp. I don’t want surgery. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home. What you want and what you need are two different things right now.
