Chapter 4 - The Eyes of the Father
The room fell into a stunned, breathless silence.
Dr. Winters immediately stepped between David and the observation window, adjusting the ventilator settings while her assistant checked his pupil response with a penlight.
Outside the glass, Samuel stopped talking to his attorneys mid-sentence. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto the heart monitor screen, which was now chirping with a steady, strong seventy-two beats per minute.
Samuel’s face didn't look relieved. It looked furious.
David’s head moved slightly on the pillow. His eyes, hazy with heavy sedatives and pain medication, drifted across the room, searching through the glare of the fluorescent lights until they landed directly on the glass observation window.
Directly on me.
Our eyes met across the glass.
Even through the fog of near-death, the intensity in his gaze was staggering. It was the same look he used to give me when he came home late from the docks—a look that saw straight through every defense, every lie, every boundary I tried to set between us.
His lips moved slightly beneath the clear plastic oxygen mask.
He couldn't speak—the ventilator tube prevented any sound from escaping his throat—but I didn't need to hear his voice to know what he was saying.
Natasha.
I backed away from the window, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I couldn't be here when he woke up fully. If David saw me, if he started asking questions about how I got into the hospital, how the rare blood was found, his sharp, analytical mind would piece everything together within minutes. He knew my blood type—we had checked it years ago when we travelled abroad—and he knew I wasn't an Rh-null match.
He would know the blood had to come from someone else.
Someone related to him.
"I have to go," I whispered to Julian, turning around quickly.
"Natasha, wait," Julian said, reaching out a hand to stop me. "If David’s awake, he’s going to ask for you. He’s going to want to know—"
"Tell him I was never here," I begged, my voice desperate. "Julian, please. If you care about David, if you care about keeping this family from destroying itself, tell him it was just a hospital registry match. Tell him I signed a form and left!"
Before Julian could answer, the elevator at the end of the hall chimed.
The heavy doors slid open, and two pediatric nurses stepped out, looking flustered.
Behind them came a tiny figure wearing a oversized yellow denim jacket, holding a bright purple coloring book in one hand and a half-eaten green lollipop in the other.
Chloe.
"Mommy!" Chloe’s clear, high voice rang out across the quiet ICU corridor, shattering the heavy silence like broken glass. "The lady gave me a lollipop because I didn't cry when the needle went pop!"
Every single person in the hallway froze.
Samuel turned slowly toward the sound of her voice.
May you like
Julian turned.
And inside Room 612, through the clear glass window, David Carter’s head shifted on the pillow as his bright, ice-blue eyes locked directly onto the little girl standing ten feet away from his door.
