Chapter 105

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Adam

The engine hums softly as I navigate through the familiar streets of the town. Mallory sits beside me, her fingers tracing patterns on the window as she gazes outside. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm glow that bathes the town in a soft, golden light. We're on our way back to the hospital, having just spent the afternoon exploring potential apartments with the realtor.

We had visited my father earlier in the day, but there weren't any significant updates on his condition, only that he was moved from the ICU to his own room. The uncertainty weighs heavily on both of us, and the prospect of a new home offers a welcome distraction. The thought of creating a space for us to share brings a spark of excitement, a glimmer of normalcy in the midst of chaos.

"So, what do you think?" I ask, stealing a glance at Mallory. Her eyes light up, and a smile plays on her lips.

"I love it, Adam. The one with the fireplace and the balcony? It's perfect," she replies, her enthusiasm contagious. I can't help but grin at her genuine excitement.

The apartment we settled on is a gem. One bedroom, a study for those quiet moments of focus, a kitchen where we can whip up meals together, and a living room adorned with a fireplace that promises warmth during chilly nights. The pièce de résistance is the huge balcony that beckons us to unwind beneath the open sky.

"The balcony is going to be our spot," Mallory muses, her eyes sparkling. "We can have morning coffees there, stargaze at night, and just enjoy the quiet moments together."

"Absolutely," I agree, a surge of contentment washing over me.

The car glides to a stop in front of the hospital. We exchange a brief look, and I offer Mallory a reassuring smile. Stepping out, we make our way inside, the automatic doors opening to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of activity.

We navigate the corridors and reach the elevator, the journey familiar to my father's room, that becomes more with each visit. The hushed whispers of nurses, the beeping of monitors—all these sounds weave into the background as we approach the door. My hand hesitates before I push it open, unsure of what awaits us inside.

The room is dimly lit, and my father lies still, his form outlined against the white hospital sheets. Ted is there, studying my father's monitors. He turns to us, offering a somber nod. "No changes," he says, and our shoulders slump. The news isn't unexpected, but the hope for improvement lingers nonetheless.

Mallory squeezes my hand, providing a silent reassurance. "He'll wake up soon," she whispers, her voice a gentle balm to the ache in my heart. I manage a nod, appreciating her unwavering support.

"Right now, it may be best that your father is in a coma. Your mother visited earlier," Ted says, his tone tinged with concern. My heart sinks. I brace myself for whatever absurdity my mother has unleashed.

"I found her, shaking him, trying to wake him up," Ted adds, and frustration courses through me. Seriously, Mom? He's in a coma. What could possibly be going through her mind?

Ted's next words send a chill down my spine. "I would suggest moving him, without letting her know. When your father wakes up, he will still be very vulnerable."

Shit. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. "So, when he wakes up, my mother could cause him another heart attack?" I ask, struggling to comprehend the absurdity of the situation.

"To put it bluntly, yes. And this time, I'm afraid it could be fatal," Ted answers, and a wave of dizziness washes over me.

"Should we move him to another hospital, Dr. Bennet?" Mallory asks, her voice steady.

"No, just the VIP suites on the top floor. He would be there anyway, but you should tell your mother that he is back in the ICU," Ted advises, his words carrying a sense of urgency.

"Thank you, Ted," I say, my gratitude mixed with a simmering anger. Ted nods in acknowledgment. "I'll be in touch," he adds before leaving the room.

Anger begins to boil inside me. How can my mother be so heartless, so cruel? I walk to my father's side, gazing at his still form. He lies there, vulnerable and defenseless. I clench my fists, grappling with the urge to confront her, to unleash the torrent of anger that simmers beneath the surface.

"I don't understand..." I murmur, my voice trailing off. The air feels thick with tension, and I glance at Mallory, whose hand rests reassuringly on my shoulder.

The door creaks open, breaking the heavy silence. I turn my head, my eyes narrowing as I see my mother entering the room. A surge of frustration courses through me – not now, not ever. I step protectively in front of Mallory and my father, a barrier between them and the tumult my mother carries with her.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, my tone sharp, laced with menace. The audacity of her presence in this room, with her track record of reckless actions, sends a surge of anger through me.

"Can't I visit my husband?" she replies, unfazed by the tension in the air. Her response is infuriatingly casual, as if this were a routine visit rather than a potentially life-threatening situation.

I clench my fists, the anger bubbling beneath the surface threatening to erupt. "Visit? You were shaking him, trying to wake him up. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" I accuse, my words cutting through the room like a blade.

"I don't need a lecture from you, Adam. I know what's best for him," she replies dismissively, her tone condescending.

"You can't just take matters into your own hands, especially when it comes to his health," Mallory interjects, her voice calm but assertive.

"Don't you dare talk to me, this is all your fault," my mother spits out, her voice reaching a high pitch that grates on my nerves.

In two swift steps, I close the distance between me and my mother. I grab her arm, a firm grip that speaks volumes of my frustration and determination. "Leave, now," I assert, my tone demanding compliance. She pulls her arm forcefully out of my grip, the defiance in her eyes unwavering. My mother turns her attention back to Mallory, her face contorted with anger. "I'm not done with you," she declares, a venomous promise hanging in the air. With that, she exits the room, slamming the door behind her.

I release a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair as I turn to face Mallory. She looks back at me, a mix of worry and anger in her eyes.

What the fuck is she going to do now?

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