Chapter 279

A nurse, swift and efficient, handed over a sterile gown.

Verena accepted it with practiced calm.

She lowered her head, slid her arms smoothly through the sleeves, and then straightened the collar and hem with precise movements.

The process was seamless-without a pause, as natural as breathing.

Yet, even as her hands moved, her ears stayed sharp, catching every word as Huxley outlined the case.

"The patient was in a car crash--limbs bear only scrapes, nothing grave. The real wound lies in the head.Glass shattered, shards pierced the skull-several large pieces are lodged inside. It's a hard case," Huxley said gravely.

Verena's brows drew together, questions spilling like a quickened stream. "Where exactly are the shards?How deep? Any sign of intracranial bleeding? And the patient's level of consciousness?"

A

Adjusting his glasses, Huxley admired her sharpness and repied without delay, "The fragments sit in the right hemisphere. Depth runs about an inch. There's minor intracranial bleeding, but no major hematoma yet. The patient's in a coma but reacts to pain stimuli. Vitals hold, though not steady-blood pressure and heart rate fluctuate."

Stopping before the OR doors, Verena lifted her head, her gaze firm. With a calm, steady voice, she nodded,saying,"Alright. I have a clear enough picture."

Ivan followed behind, hollow-eyed, like a man carrying the weight of the world, from office to operating room.

His steps faltered; his gaze was vacant, each movement dragging as though chained.

In his mind, two images clashed: the girl's dimpled smile, and the imagined wreck that had torn it away.His chest tightened as though an invisible fist had clenched around his heart, stealíng his breath.

Verena was about to enter, but catching Ivan's state, she turned back to his shattered figure.

Her tone softened, steady as a hand on troubled waters. "Don't worry. I'H do everything I can."

Ivan moistened his pale, cracked lips, nodding stiffly, a puppet barely held by strings.

Then his gaze lifted-eyes swimming with helplessness and desperate plea. His voice rasped. "I trust you.You have to save her."

The sight struck at Verena's chest.

But doctors know better than to hand out absolute verdicts. False hope is poison, despair a double-edged blade, and promises unkept cut deepest of all.

So she sighed gently, her gaze earnest. "Ivan, I'll give it everything I have. But medicine is riddled with uncertainty-things may turn at any moment. I can't give you an absolute promise. Yet as long as there's a thread of hope, I won't let go. You, too, must brace yourself-for whatever comes."

Ivan's lips trembled. Words clung to his throat, but only a broken whimper slipped free.

His hands dangled weakly, fingers twitching in spasms.

At length, he nodded slowly, as though surrendering the last of his strength.

Once carefree, now crushed to fragments-his ruin made Verena's heart clench. Yet as a doctor, precision was her creed; every word had to bear its weight.

She pressed her lips, said no more, slipped on her mask, and pushed through the OR doors. The doors sealed shut, the red "In Surgery" light glowing above.

Ivan stood frozen, staring, as though his soul had been left on the other side.

Then his knees gave way, sliding down the wall.

Crouched low, his hands covered his face, muffled sobs leaking through trembling fingers. His shoulders heaved, soft cries echoing faintly through the empty corridor.

Passing nurses and waiting families cast pitying glances, but lvan saw none of them. He was drowned in grief, his tears slipping through his hands and darkening the floor.

Inside, cold light washed the OR.

Verena took up the scalpel with precision, incising the scalp, the nurses quick at her side.

Her every move was steady, caIculated, sparing blood and sparing trauma.

When the shards came into sight, lodged deep in fragile brain tissue, sweat gathered on her brow-but her gaze did not falter.

She clamped each fragment with forceps, easing it out bit by bit.

Time itself seemed suspended-only the beeping machines and her measured breath filled the room.

At last, after long and grueling labor, every shard was removed.

Pressing her dry lips, she moved forward-suturing, stopping blood, repairing what damage she could.

When the final stitch was tied, she exhaled deeply, one hand bracing her aching waist as she stepped back

One of the nurses, catching sight of her belly, rushed close. "Are you alright?"

Verena nodded slightly. "I'mn fine. I'll leave the follow-up to you."

With that,she walked out.

Outside, the "In Surgery" light dimmed, and Ivan's heart lurched again.

His gaze was fixed on the doors. The instant Verena appeared, he sprang forward.

He stood before her-eyes red, lips trembling.

He tried to speak, but his throat locked, words piling like stones behind silence.

Seeing him, Verena patted his shoulder lightly. "It's okay-she's out of immediate danger. But waking will depend on her willpower."

At those words, Ivan's taut nerves unraveled. His whole frame buckled, strength deserting him in an instant.

Verena caught him quickly.

Just then, Isaac arrived in haste.

His hands froze on the wheels, his eyes locking onto the two pressed close.

His gaze flickered-worry, doubt, and beneath it all, jealousy's bitter fire, seeing Verena so near another man.