"How much longer do we have to wait?" James muttered, pacing the length of the hospital waiting room. His eyes never left the doors of the surgery room.
Nearly an hour had passed since Elena was taken in, and with each tick of the clock, his anxiety grew.
"My love, calm down," Mary said softly, placing a comforting hand on his arm.
"The doctors are doing their best to bring our daughter back to us, safe and sound." She hoped her words would ease his tension, even if only slightly.
Her reassurance seemed to work; James let out a heavy sigh and sat back down. Just then, the doors of the surgery room swung open, and a nurse stepped out, her expression tense and urgent.
"Nurse!" James and the others immediately stood up and rushed toward her.
"How is my daughter?" James asked frantically, his voice trembling.
The nurse hesitated, glancing between them before speaking. "Your daughter lost a significant amount of blood, and unfortunately, we've run out of her blood type. If there's anyone in the family who shares her type, we would greatly appreciate a donation."
James, Mary, and Rico exchanged anxious glances.
Despite being close family, none of them shared Elena's blood type—an oddity they still wondered about to this day.
"Is there anyone?" the nurse asked again, her voice more urgent.
James was about to shake his head sadly when Damon, who had been standing silently in the background, stepped forward.
"What's her blood type?" he asked.
"AB," the nurse replied.
Without hesitation, Damon declared, "I'll donate."
The nurse's eyes widened slightly. "And your blood type?"
"O."
The nurse wasted no time; she grabbed Damon's arm and led him back into the surgery room.
As he followed, Damon's gaze fell on Elena, lying pale and still on the operating table. His heart clenched at the sight, and he felt tears sting his eyes.
"Sir, this way, please," the nurse urged, snapping him back to reality. She guided him to a bed next to Elena's, separated only by a thin curtain.
"This will sting a little," the nurse warned before inserting the needle into his arm. Blood began to flow from him into a collection bag. Within minutes, the bag was filled, and another was prepared to continue the transfusion.
"Scan this," the nurse directed another staff member as she handed over the bag of Damon's blood. They would test it immediately, ensuring it was safe for transfusion.
"Thank you," the nurse said as they finished, guiding Damon out of the room. Despite donating two full bags of blood, he still appeared healthy, though slightly pale.
"Please sit and rest for at least thirty minutes," the nurse advised before heading back into the surgery room.
But Damon couldn't bring himself to sit. He remained standing, his gaze fixed on the doors, his thoughts with Elena.
"Maybe you should sit down," Mary suggested gently, noticing his pallor.
"I'm fine," Damon replied with a faint smile, though his strength was waning. Before he could react, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, and the room spun.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed, hitting his head on the tiled floor.
"Shit!" Rico dashed forward, trying to catch him, but he was too late. Blood trickled from a small wound on Damon's head.
"Nurse, help!" James shouted, rushing to the corridor. Within seconds, nurses arrived and lifted Damon onto a stretcher.
"What happened?" one of them asked as they examined him.
"He donated blood just a few moments ago," Mary explained.
The nurse nodded, understanding. "Let's get him stabilized," she said, pushing the stretcher down the hall.
Rico followed, glancing back at the waiting room before deciding to stay with Damon, feeling the need to repay him for his sacrifice for Elena.
In the common ward, Damon was given IV fluids, and Rico stood by, watching as he regained some color.
"How is he?" Rico asked a nurse, his concern genuine.
"He'll be fine," she assured him before leaving the two alone, with Damon still unconscious.
Meanwhile, back in the waiting room, the surgery room doors opened, and this time, a doctor stepped out, looking tired but relieved.
"Doctor, how's my daughter?" James asked, rushing forward, desperation in his voice.
The doctor managed a reassuring smile. "The surgery was successful. We removed the bullet, and, fortunately, we received a blood donor in time."
A heavy sigh of relief escaped James as Mary slumped back in her seat, overcome with emotion. Their daughter had survived.
Just then, the doors opened again, and Elena was wheeled out on a gurney, her face no longer deathly pale but showing signs of life.
"My girl," Mary whispered, tears streaming down her face as she reached for Elena's hand, following the nurses as they transferred her to the recovery room.
In Damon's ward, his eyes fluttered open. He took in his surroundings, feeling disoriented. Noticing Rico standing by the window, he groaned, catching his attention.
"You're awake," Rico said, striding over. He glanced at the IV bag, which was now nearly empty.
"How's Elena?" Damon asked, his voice hoarse but filled with concern.
Rico hesitated, taken aback. He had expected Damon to ask about his own condition or what had happened, but Damon's first thought was of Elena. Did he truly had good intentions with his sister?
"She's sti—" Rico began, but his phone buzzed, interrupting him. Mary's name flashed on the screen.
"Rico," she said, her voice filled with relief, "the surgery was a success. Elena's been moved to her recovery room."
Rico exhaled a shaky sigh, bending over as he felt the tension finally release from his body. Damon watched him anxiously.
"What happened?" Damon asked eagerly. "Is she okay?"
"Surgery went well. She's in recovery now," Rico replied. But as soon as he spoke, Damon, without a second thought, ripped the IV needle from his arm and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to stand.
"Damon, wait! You need rest!" Rico protested, stepping forward to stop him.
But Damon shook his head stubbornly. "I need to see her," he insisted, his voice fierce with determination.
He took a shaky step forward, his mind focused solely on Elena. Nothing else mattered to him at that moment—not the dizziness, not the fatigue, not even his own wellbeing.
He had to see her. He had to know for himself that she was truly okay.