Chapter 2
When I woke up, everything before my eyes was washed in pale brightness. It was not the harsh glare of an operating room, but a soft, sunlit glow.
The curtains weren't fully closed, and a sliver of light slipped through, falling across the back of my hand.
I moved my fingers.
It hurt, but not like a cut. My whole body ached, like I'd been taken apart and put back together again.
Still, pain was a good thing. It meant I was alive.
"Hi," a man's voice came from next to me.
I turned my head and saw a face. It seemed familiar, but I couldn't remember who he was.
He wore a white coat and sat in a chair beside my bed, holding my medical chart. When he noticed me staring at him, he set the chart down and stood up.
"Don't recognize me?" he said. "Jonathan Brooks. We went to college together. I sat behind you."
Oh, Jonathan.
I remembered. He was the guy who always sat in the back, slept in class, but somehow still passed every test.
One time, he overslept, and I covered for him when attendance was taken. Later, he bought me a soda to thank me, the cheap kind.
"You—" I tried to speak, my throat raw and rough. "Why are you here?"
"I'm a doctor at this hospital," he said, glancing down at my chart. "Cardiology. I was there during your surgery."
Memories flooded back all at once. I remembered signing the form, seeing them take my daughter, Amy's smile, the surgical lights, and the anesthesia.
I suddenly grabbed his wrist. "Where's my baby?"
"Calm down," he said, gently holding me down. "The babies are in the neonatal unit. Their condition is stable. Your best friend came yesterday. I let her see them and take pictures. You can go see them when you're better."
I let go of his wrist, gasping for air.
Good. I was alive, and so were my kids.
I looked at him. "Weren't they supposed to do the transplant? How did it—"
"We had to stop," Jonathan said, sitting back down. "Halfway through the surgery, the power went out."
A power outage? I froze.
He said, "Not some weird drama-style blackout. It was a normal electrical problem. The equipment here is old, the wiring worn out. The power load was high that day, so it tripped."
"And then what?" I asked.
"Then I made a decision," he said, looking straight at me. "I told Eugene the equipment failed, and the surgery had to stop. You were moved to the ICU for monitoring."
He paused. "I'm a doctor, not an executioner."
I looked at him, my eyes stinging. "And he believed?"
"He didn't have time to think it through. His ex moved pretty quickly."
"Amy? What did she do?"
"She told your husband's business rivals that he forced you to donate your heart," Jonathan said with a slight grimace. "She was trying to pressure him into finishing things with you fast.
"But things got out of hand. The media wrote harsh stories, saying the Lambert Group's CEO forced his wife to die to save his ex. Eugene has been drowning in problems these past few days and hasn't paid attention to the hospital."
I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, casting shifting shadows above me.
Amy was getting desperate. Good. People messed up when they panicked.
"Thank you," I said.
Jonathan didn't say anything. He stood up and walked to the door, stopping for a moment.
"Natalie," he said without turning around. "I still remember that time you helped me out in college."
The door closed behind him.
*****
I stayed in the ICU for three days. During that time, two people visited me.
The first was a nurse. That night, a young nurse came to change my bandages. She was very gentle. After she finished, she didn't leave immediately. She stood there, looking at me for a while.
She murmured, lowering her voice. "Someone asked me to give you a message."
My attention snapped to her. "Who?"
"A lawyer with the last name Guzman." She glanced toward the door to make sure no one was there, then pulled a folded note from her pocket and slipped it into my hand. "He said you have his number. He asked you to contact him."
The note only had Marcus Guzman's name and phone number on it.
I stared at the number, and tears suddenly started falling.
Marcus was my bestie Sharon's cousin. He was a lawyer.
Before I got married, Sharon made me save his number, saying it might be useful someday. I laughed at her for being overly pessimistic, but I saved it anyway.
After that, I forgot all about it. I never thought I'd actually need it.
"Thank you," I said, gripping the note, my voice shaking.
The nurse shook her head and left.
The second person to visit me was Eugene. He came on the evening of the third day.
By then, I'd been moved out of the ICU into a regular ward. Jonathan said I was fine and needed time to recover.
I was leaning against the headboard, drinking water, when the door suddenly swung open.
Eugene stood in the doorway.
He looked exhausted. His eyes were sunken, his beard untrimmed, his suit wrinkled. The man who used to look perfectly put together now seemed like he'd lost something important.
He stared at me for a long time. Then he walked in slowly until he was right beside my bed. "Natalie."
That name sounded strange coming from him, like he was calling someone else, not me.
He used to speak to me in a cold, businesslike tone. I'd never heard him sound this gentle before.
I didn't say a word.
He stood by the bed, looking down at me, his eyes red like he'd been crying.
"I didn't know." Eugene's voice sounded rough. "I had no idea you suffered so much. I didn't know that Amy—"
"Eugene," I cut him off.
He stopped and looked at me.
"What do you know?" I said.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
I said, "Did you know I went to every prenatal checkup alone? Did you know I bought everything for the babies myself? Do you know where you were when I gave birth?"
That day, he was in Amy's ward.
That was what the nurse told me. I was bleeding heavily during delivery, and he was sitting next to Amy. They called him dozens of times, but he never answered.
"I didn't know," he kept repeating, like a broken record. "I really didn't."
I stared at his face.
There was a time when only one glance at that face would make my heart race. He didn't talk much, but I thought that was part of his charm. I believed he simply didn't know how to show his love.
Now, I finally understood.
It wasn't that he didn't know how to express himself. He simply didn't want to express anything to me.