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Chapter 21:
Ryan's phone buzzed insistently once again, and his frustration flared. He glanced at the screen, his face falling when he saw his mother's name flash across it. Her voice broke through the phone as he answered, high-pitched and trembling with panic. "Ryan… Lily... She's been shot... Oh my God... She's in the ER... They're operating on her!"
His heart stopped, his breath catching in his chest. The words felt like a brutal punch to the gut. Lily—his little girl—was in critical condition, and the shock of the moment rendered him momentarily speechless.
Ryan's mind raced as the call ended, and he bolted from the office, his every step fueled by a primal sense of fear and urgency. His daughter was in the hospital, fighting for her life. The images of her laughing, playing, full of joy only hours ago, now felt like a cruel memory.
He arrived at the hospital in a daze, pushing past the nurses at the entrance, ignoring their calls for him to wait. "I need to see her," he demanded, his voice raw and filled with panic, his pulse thundering in his ears. "She's my daughter. Please!"
The nurses, their faces filled with concern but firm in their professional resolve, tried to stop him. "Mr. Blackwood, you can't be in here. It's a sterile environment. Please, wait in the waiting area," one nurse said, her voice calm but insistent.
Ryan didn't hear her. His body moved on its own, fueled by desperation. He stormed past them, ignoring their objections, his eyes locked on the operating room. Through the glass, he could see his daughter's tiny body lying motionless on the operating table, bathed in harsh surgical lights. Her face was pale, her chest barely rising with each shallow breath. The sight nearly broke him, and his heart twisted with fear.
His eyes flickered over the surgeon at the table, a woman he didn't recognize, her back to him. Her hands moved expertly, with confidence and precision, and despite the terror gripping him, he couldn't help but feel a small surge of hope. He didn't know who she was, but there was something in the way she moved—something familiar, something reassuring. She was doing everything she could, and that was enough for now.
A nurse rushed toward him. "Mr. Blackwood, you need to leave," she said, her voice sharp and filled with concern. "Security is on their way."
Ryan's gaze remained fixed on the surgeon, his body tense as the world around him seemed to fade. He had to know who she was. He had to understand what was happening to his daughter. His mind was a whirlwind of questions and fears, but he couldn't seem to control it.
Before he could protest, the sound of heavy footsteps filled the room. Two security guards entered, their faces grim, their uniforms stiff and imposing.
"Sir," one of them said in a low, stern voice, "you need to leave the operating room. You're disrupting the procedure."
Ryan met their eyes, his own filled with a mix of defiance and desperation. He could see the determination in the guards' expressions—they were doing their job, but he couldn't leave. Not yet. Not while his daughter was in there.
He took a step back, his heart heavy, and looked one last time at Lily. His chest tightened as he saw her lifeless form lying under the bright lights. He wanted to rush to her side, to hold her hand, to tell her everything would be okay. But the reality was brutal: he couldn't. Not now. Not while the doctors were fighting for her life.
Reluctantly, he turned and walked toward the door, the weight of the moment almost too much to bear. Each step felt like a small betrayal. The need to be there for her—to be by her side—was overwhelming, but he knew that he had to trust the doctors, to trust the process.
Ryan entered the waiting area, the silence oppressive as his eyes scanned the room. His mother sat there, her face pale, her eyes wide with worry, her hand clutching her own. Beside her, his father sat rigid, his face ashen, hands folded in his lap as though the weight of the world was pressing down on him. His sister sat at the other end, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her lips trembling with barely contained grief.
Ryan sank into the seat next to his mother, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. The warmth of her hand was a small comfort in the chaos of his mind. He felt her grip tighten, a silent understanding passing between them.
The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, each second dragging on in slow motion. The surgery had already been going on for almost an hour and a half, and with every tick, a new wave of fear gripped him. The longer it took, the worse the situation must be. He didn't know how much longer he could hold onto his hope, but he knew that he had to. He had to be strong—for Lily, for his family, for himself.
His mother looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear. She squeezed his hand, as if trying to give him some strength in the face of the unknown. Ryan looked at her, his throat tight with emotion. She was scared, too, but there was an unspoken bond between them, a love that transcended everything. He had to stay strong—for her, and for Lily.
With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, allowing the memories of Lily's laughter, her playful smile, to fill his mind. He whispered a silent prayer, the words tumbling out in a desperate, barely audible plea. Please, don't take her. Please, don't take my daughter
The sound of the doors to the operating room opening broke his reverie. A doctor emerged, her face tired but with a glimmer of relief in her eyes. "The surgery was successful," the doctor said, her voice calm and reassuring. "She's stable now, but we're keeping her in the ICU for observation."
A wave of relief crashed over Ryan, his body slumping in exhaustion as the tension finally ebbed away. His hands shook as he wiped his face, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. His daughter was going to be okay.
He exhaled, the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders, if only for a moment. He had to believe that she would pull through, that they would all get through this. For Lily. For his family. For the future.
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