146 Reality 2
Mara
“What does he want?” Lucian asked, his voice quiet but cautious.
I hesitated, unsure how much to tell him. I hadn’t fully considered the consequences when I asked my father to come. Lucian had already begun making peace with the tragedy, and the last thing I wanted was to give him false hope-only to watch it fall apart again.
Yet if there was even the smallest chance, we owed it to ourselves to explore it. I silently hoped Lucian could withstand
the emotional strain.
“Mara?” Lucian’s voice was sharper now, pulling me from my tangled thoughts.
“My father says there might be another option for your son,” I finally admitted carefully. “He thinks it could help.”
Lucian’s expression immediately brightened, exactly what I’d feared.
“He could’ve discussed it with you on the phone,” he said impatiently. “Time is crucial.”
I nodded gently. “I think it’s something unconventional. He wanted to discuss it face-to-face.”
Lucian’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Dr. Green must have called him directly. The man has no respect for confidentiality.”
I frowned slightly. Lucian continued bitterly, “Your father’s off-duty today, Mara. How else could he have known about the baby’s condition so quickly if someone at the hospital didn’t inform him? Dr. Green has already proven himself unreliable. At least we’ll use another hospital from now on. Goddess knows who else would have heard about your pregnancy by
now. I’ll ensure his medical license is suspended after this.”
I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. In a twisted way, Dr. Green’s indiscretion might have inadvertently given the baby one
final chance.
Fifteen tense minutes passed before my father arrived, confirming Lucian’s suspicion that he’d called from home. Darian and Tiffany had not returned yet, but the Clearwaters quietly made themselves scarce when my father stepped into the
house.
Lucian and I descended the stairs together to meet him. The two men shook hands cordially, and I quickly hugged my
father before Lucian motioned politely toward the living room.
“Please, have a seat,” Lucian offered, his tone polite yet anxious. My father sat, meeting Lucian’s gaze directly.
“Mara says you might have a solution for my son?” Lucian pressed, eager to cut to the chase.
My father hesitated, carefully weighing his words. “It’s not a guaranteed solution. Much depends on the extent of the internal damage,” he warned cautiously.
Lucian nodded gravely, squeezing my thigh gently-his comforting habit. “I understand, but even a slim chance is better than doing nothing.”
My father leaned forward, voice measured yet hopeful. “A few years ago, I treated a family whose child had a congenital diaphragmatic hernia-exactly the same issue your son has. The mother was originally from Neev and had heard of a specialist neonatal care facility there, renowned for successfully treating infants with severe birth defects.”
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before continuing. “They flew the child immediately to Neev by medical helicopter. It was a delicate, complicated procedure, but the baby survived. Today, he’s thriving, healthy, and growing strong. He developed normally, and when his wolf awakened, his healing accelerated significantly, greatly reducing
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long-term complications. He’s now living a normal, active life.”
+8 Points
Hope and confusion surged through me simultaneously. Could this truly be possible? Could we really have a way out of this tragedy after all?
Lucian tightened his grip slightly on my thigh, tension and hope radiating from him in equal measure. He took a deep, steadying breath.
“Tell me everything,” he said firmly, determination returning to his voice.
Lucian sat in silence for a long moment, staring ahead, unmoving. The weight of my father’s words clearly hit him-harder than he was ready to admit. I didn’t blame him. This wasn’t just a medical decision. It was emotional. It waseverything.
“I would be sending my son away…” he finally said, almost to himself. “Letting strangers raise him.”
“No,” my father said gently but firmly. “You’d be giving him the chance to be raised. There’s a difference.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. My heart ached for him. He wasn’t just making a choice for the baby-he was facing the fact that no matter what he chose, he would carry the cost.
“Would we be allowed to visit him?” I asked, trying to get ahead of Lucian’s thoughts.
“Of course,” my father replied. “You’d be expected to. The staff there encourage it. They even do private accommodation for family members on the grounds. Many of their patients’ parents have homes in the nearby countryside. It’s discreet, secure, and fully accessible.”
Lucian slowly turned to me. “What do you think, Mara?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I think you’re his only chance, Lucian. If we can give him a life-any life-we owe it to him to try. And I think you’ll hate yourself forever if you don’t.”
He looked down at my belly, then back at me. “Would it affect you? Being pregnant, knowing he’s out there…that I have to
divide myself like this?”
I reached for his hand. “You won’t be divided, Lucian. You’ll just be bigger. Your love will have to stretch, yes-but not split.
I can take care of us. Let them take care of him.”
Lucian exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “This isn’t how I thought fatherhood would begin.”
“No,” I said. “But we aren’t the first people to find out that parenthood isn’t something you plan. It’s something you rise to.”
Lucian looked at my father. “Set it up. Contact the clinic. Book the flight. Get the papers. Whatever it takes, just…do it.”
“I already made the first call,” my father admitted. “They can send a team by morning. You’ll need to sign a few things. They’ll stabilize him for the journey and prep him for surgery once he arrives.”
Lucian nodded. “Then we start tonight. If the goddess is giving us a thread, I’ll grip it with both hands.”
He turned to me, eyes heavier than I’d ever seen them. “Thank you,” he whispered.
I smiled faintly and squeezed his hand.
“We save him,” I said. “That’s what matters.”
“I think this is for the best,” Lucian finally said at last, his voice low but resolute.
He sat forward, hands clasped tightly between his knees, eyes locked on my father’s. There was a weight to his words-a weariness that came from months of buried regret.
“I want Mara and me to have a fresh start. I can’t keep holding on to the wreckage of mistakes I should’ve prevented. If stepping away means my son will have a real chance at peace, at life, then… I’ll do it.”
2/4
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+8 Points >
My father nodded slowly, the lines on his face deepening. “I understand your point of view,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll make the arrangements. They’ll come immediately.”
There was a long silence after that, and then, almost gently, my father asked, “Have you thought of a name?”
Lucian nodded. “Richard.”
No hesitation. No ceremony. Just a name spoken aloud with quiet finality. It wasn’t one he’d spent hours pondering. It didn’t carry layers of meaning or ancestral weight.
It was a choice born of necessity-quick, clean, and distant. That in itself told me everything. It was time I started thinking
of names too.
My father pulled out his phone and stepped aside to make the call. From the look on his face, he’d likely spoken to them before walking in. The pieces had already been moving.
“They’ll be on their way with a helicopter,” he said when he returned. “We should head to the hospital now. There’s paperwork to sort out before the transfer.”
Lucian and I hurried to change into something decent, our movements mechanical. The silence between us was thick-
not with resentment, but something sadder. Acceptance.
Lucian didn’t want me to come. He said it would be too hard, too messy, too much. But I needed to be there. Not just as
someone who loved him, but as someone who refused to look away from this moment. From the truth of it.
The truth that a child was fighting to breathe-because his mother had deliberately poisoned her own body during the
first trimester for attention. A cocktail of medications to simulate illness. To manipulate sympathy. And that fragile,
broken diaphragm inside that tiny chest was the cost.
Little Richard’s life had become a silent plea for survival. And we had no right to look away.
The drive was quiet. Lucian’s hands gripped the wheel like they were holding the last threads of his composure, and my
father followed behind us in his car. When we arrived, we rushed through the antiseptic-scented corridors of the hospital
toward the ICU.
I wasn’t ready for what I saw.
Tina stood frozen at the glass window, eyes bloodshot, hands trembling against the cold pane. Beside her-of all people- was Joey the car-wash master. No longer fat. He actually looked good as if he had been working out. He was standing
with her.
No one spoke.
The air was thick with guilt, history, and the raw ache of helplessness. I watched the rise and fall of Richard’s tiny chest
beneath the tubes and wires. His breaths came in shallow, uneven puffs-each one a miracle, each one a race against
time.
There was no room for blame now. No space for anger or pride. Only the hope that, for once, our fractured choices could lead to something good.
For his sake.
For Richard.
