The Things I Love About Him

Chapter 4

Trisha

We arrived at the hospital in a blur of sirens and flashing lights. The paramedics quickly unloaded Ethan and rushed him into the emergency room. I tried to follow, but they stopped me at the door.

"You can't go in," one of them said firmly.

Left alone in the cold, sterile hallway, I felt my strength drain away. My hands trembled as I fumbled for my phone, dialing Alexa's number with shaking fingers.

"Have you reached Ethan's parents?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't be here alone, Alexa. I don't think I can handle this by myself."

The fear of waiting for news about Ethan's condition threatened to consume me.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, pulling me out of my daze.

"Where's my son?" a man's voice demanded at the receptionist's desk.

I looked up and caught sight of someone who seemed far too ordinary to be Ethan's father—dressed simply, without any of the airs of wealth. A woman beside him glanced in my direction. Her eyes locked onto mine. She walked over, her face etched with worry. She had to be Ethan's mother.

"What happened, dear? What happened to my son?" she asked, her voice trembling.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught in my throat. How could I explain something I could barely comprehend myself? It felt like something out of a telenovela—not real life.

"I—I'm s-sorry," I stammered, my gaze dropping to the floor. I had nothing to offer her but apologies.

Alexa nudged me gently, her voice firm. "Sorry for what? You didn't do anything wrong."

Before I could respond, the doctor emerged from the emergency room.

"Doctor, how's my son?" Ethan's father asked, his voice thick with worry.

The doctor hesitated before answering.
"He needs surgery immediately," he said, tone grave. "There's a blood clot forming on the left side of his brain. If we don't operate soon, it could lead to serious complications or..."

He trailed off, the weight of the next word too heavy.

"Or what?" Ethan's mother demanded, panic rising in her voice.

"Death," the doctor said at last. "I know this is incredibly difficult to hear, but we're doing everything we can. Time is critical. We're preparing the operating room now, and I'll keep you informed. Please, try to stay calm—for your son's sake."

Ethan's mother swayed on her feet, as if she might faint. Her husband caught her, holding her close as she struggled to process the news. Ethan was their only child—the heir to A Tech Group of Companies. The thought of losing him was unthinkable.

"Doctor, please," Ethan's father pleaded, his voice breaking. "Do whatever it takes. He means everything to us. Whatever the cost—just save him."

The doctor gave a solemn nod and turned to summon his team.

Four hours crawled by, each one stretching into an eternity as we waited for any word. Anxiety pressed down on us like a physical weight, our silent prayers mingling with the sterile scent of antiseptic.

"What really happened to our son?" Ethan's father finally asked, breaking the silence.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to relive the nightmare.

"We were crossing the street, heading back to the office," I began, my voice trembling. "Ethan was on the other side of the lane. The light turned green, and just as we were about to cross, a car came out of nowhere—speeding. We watched as Ethan—"

My voice broke. Tears welled up again. Alexa wrapped an arm around me in silent support.

"It was a hit-and-run," she said, steady where I faltered. "The car didn't even have a visible plate number. We couldn't identify it. We've already reported it to the police—they're investigating."

I was grateful for her calm presence—for her strength when mine had failed.

"Who could do this to our son?" Ethan's mother cried. "Did he have enemies? Competitors? Anyone at work?"

She looked at me, searching for answers I didn't have.
Ethan had his moments—sure, the pressure from the industry brought out his temper—but he was fair. He treated all of us with respect. He was a good boss. Who would want to hurt him?

"Oh, my poor child..." she whispered, her voice cracking with grief.

Her tears fell freely—raw and unfiltered. The pain of a mother watching her only son teeter between life and death was unbearable. Every second felt like a lifetime. The fear, the not knowing—it consumed the air around us.

Ethan's father held her close, his face set in a mask of helplessness.

"The person who did this to our son must pay," he said, voice thick with rage. "I'll never forgive them. Never."