A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Angeline’s lips — proud, a little wistful. She felt her chest swell with quiet gratitude. How lucky I am, she thought. How lucky I am to have them.
She’d lost count of how many times her path had twisted, how many times she’d let her heart be tugged in the wrong direction — straying away, chasing people who only brought storms to her door. But sitting here now, watching Kenji’s calm kindness, Hugo’s gentle strength, and Finn’s innocent warmth, she knew the truth as clear as a flame.
No one could ever be better for me than my husbands. They were caring. Mature when the world demanded it, but silly and sweet in the quiet corners of their life. They knew how to hold her when she cried, how to make her laugh when she thought she’d forgotten how. They weren’t perfect gods, they were stubborn and childish sometimes but they were hers.
When the ICU doors finally creaked open, the quiet hum of the hallway seemed to stop breathing altogether. The nurse stepped out — her light red cap slightly askew, a sheen of worry shining on her forehead. She looked exhausted, her eyes darting from face to face as if weighing which words would hurt the least.
Everyone stood at once — chairs scraping, feet stumbling forward, hearts rattling in their chests like loose coins in a jar. Karl clutched the edge of Pillu’s sleeve, his breath caught somewhere deep in his throat. His wide eyes stared at the nurse, waiting — begging for the next words to be good ones.
The nurse took a soft breath, her hands folded in front of her. "We’re trying very hard to save him," she said, her voice kind but strained, each word careful and heavy. "But... there are some complications with the surgery. His condition... it’s delicate. So it’s going to take more time."
As soon as the words fell, they seemed to echo down the corridor, bouncing off the walls and settling like ice in everyone’s bones.
Ruby felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. Her hand flew up to her mouth, eyes stinging with tears that threatened to spill, but she forced them back. Her body leaned slightly against Angeline’s shoulder, trying to stay steady.
Karl’s face went blank, so blank that for a heartbeat he looked like a lost child, frozen in place. His fingers flexed open and closed at his sides, knuckles white as he fumbled for something, anything to hold onto. "But... but he’s strong... right?" he whispered, but no one answered.
Adrian didn’t move. He stood a little apart from the others, his back braced against the cold wall, his arms now dangling useless at his sides. His eyes were wide but eerily empty like he’d just turned into a statue carved out of fear itself. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came.
Julian felt like his lungs wouldn’t work. His heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear the nurse anymore. He forced himself to inhale — once, twice — but his chest felt too tight. His eyes were wide, locked on the nurse’s face, searching for any sign of hope. His hands trembled so badly he had to grip the hem of his robe to keep from dropping to his knees right there.
Angeline quietly reached for Ruby’s hand, squeezing it tight. Beside them, Kenji moved to Karl, gently placing his hand on Karl’s shoulder, grounding him before he tipped over the edge of panic.
The nurse lowered her head respectfully. "We’re doing everything we can," she said softly, as if that promise could hold back the flood of fear pooling in that hallway.
As the nurse slipped back through the doors, the small group stood frozen, breathing the same heavy air, hearts beating the same terrified rhythm, clinging to the only hope they had left:
That Milo would come back to them, no matter how long it took.
Inside the ICU, the air was heavy with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of the machines that tracked every fragile beat of Milo’s heart. The sterile white walls seemed to close in tighter with every minute that passed, every drop of blood that flowed through the delicate tubes.
One young nurse, her mask damp against her lips, glanced up at the monitor — the flickering green lines dipping too close to flat for her comfort. Panic flickered in her eyes as she looked at the senior healer standing over Milo, hands steady but brow furrowed in deep concentration.
"What should we do?" the young nurse whispered, her voice tight, barely above the hum of the machines. She clutched the tray of sterilized tools so hard her knuckles turned white. "His heart condition — it’s getting worse. It’s dropping faster than expected."
Healer didn’t look up. Her gloved hands moved with precise, practiced grace.
"Focus," She said, voice low but firm, the kind that could snap a wavering mind back into place. "Keep his pulse steady. The tiniest mistake and he’ll slip. Bring me another soul thread — now."
The nurse nodded quickly, her hands trembling as she fetched the requested soul thread — a thin, shimmering filament that glowed faintly, meant to reinforce the fragile tissues during the operation.
Another assistant healer leaned in, whispering urgently, "Should we call in the backup team? If we lose him on the table—"
"We won’t lose him," Healer cut in sharply. Her eyes, though shadowed with worry, burned with sheer will. "He’s made it this far. We hold him here — he goes under once, he’s gone for good. Not on my table."
The young nurse swallowed, her eyes darting to Milo’s pale face, the faintest flicker of a smile still ghosting his lips, even now, as if he were dreaming of a flower field somewhere far away.
She clenched her teeth and steadied her breath. There was no room for fear here — only hands that could not shake and hope that could not waver.
—To be continued...🪄