The Bonds We Keep

Hope

Beckett's POV

The hum of the fluorescent lights in the hospital's medical library became a sort of white noise, blending with the rustling of pages and the quiet clicks of the computer keyboard in front of me. The weight of the world rested on my shoulders, and I couldn't just sit around waiting for things to get worse. Not with Ella. Not with *her*. I had to do something.

Hours passed, but I barely noticed. I poured over every journal, every research paper, every clinical trial I could find on pulmonary atresia, on the weakening of the heart after procedures like hers. I was looking for an answer, anything that could give her a fighting chance. Most of the options were the same ones we'd been told before, treatments we'd already tried. Nothing new. Nothing promising. But I couldn't stop. I wouldn't.

Then I found it.

My eyes locked onto the details of a clinical trial. It was newer and less established, but the success rate jumped off the page—73%. Much higher than anything else we'd considered. I felt my heart pick up pace, a glimmer of hope igniting inside me. I studied it further, checking for risks, complications, or anything that might make it dangerous. The longer I read, the more it seemed like this could be it. This could be Ella's shot.

I snapped the folder shut, printed everything I could, and tore out of the library. The echo of my footsteps in the corridor matched the racing beat of my heart. As I ran toward Ella's floor, I ignored the nurses and doctors who called after me, telling me to slow down. They didn't get it. This wasn't a time to slow down—this was Ella.

The elevator doors couldn't open fast enough as I bolted down the hall, my eyes immediately landing on Dr. Bennett, Ella's doctor, standing at the nurse's desk outside her room. I didn't even check to see if my family was around. My mind was laser-focused on the folder in my hand, on what I'd found.

"Take a look at this," I said, breathless, thrusting the folder toward her. Dr. Bennett raised her eyebrows in surprise before taking the papers from my hand. Her sharp, experienced eyes scanned the pages, while I waited, every second stretching like an eternity. My pulse raced with the desperate need for her approval, my nerves clawing at me from the inside.

"It's a clinical trial," I started, my words tumbling out too fast. "It's had success with patients like Ella. The risks are lower than other treatments, and it specifically targets the weakening of her heart—"

She held up a hand to stop my rambling, her focus still on the paper. Time stretched painfully as I waited for her reaction, anxiety swirling in the pit of my stomach. Finally, she looked up, her expression softening. A small, cautious smile appeared on her face. "This... this could work," she said, her voice measured but hopeful. "You may have just helped save her life."

Her words struck me like a jolt of electricity—hope and fear mixed in equal parts. "Let's go talk to your family," she said gently, guiding me toward Ella's room. I followed her, my chest still tight, but that small flicker of hope wouldn't leave me. **You may have just helped save her life.** But I couldn't let myself get carried away. *May* wasn't a promise. It was a maybe, and maybe wasn't good enough for me. Not yet.

We entered the room, where the familiar sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of machines greeted us. My heart clenched at the sight of Ella—so small, so fragile under the harsh hospital lights, her chest rising and falling in quick shallow breaths. The oxygen mask over her face seemed too big for her, a reminder of just how much she was fighting.

Mom and Dad stood near her bed, the weariness and stress on their faces clear. Atlas and Jasper were by the window, quiet, their faces set in a somber tension. Ace was perched in a chair near the corner, his gaze flicking toward us as we entered. Luca's pacing had stopped seeing us enter.

"Is everything okay?" Mom asked, her voice laced with exhaustion and fear. She looked at me with wide, questioning eyes, like she was both dreading and hoping for whatever news I had."I found something," I said softly, holding up the folder. "There's a clinical trial. It's new, but it has a high success rate for patients like Ella." I paused, trying to steady my voice. "It's risky, but... I think it might be her best shot."

Dr. Bennett stepped forward, her calm, authoritative presence filling the room as she began explaining the details. She broke down the statistics, the treatment plan, the potential risks and benefits. My parents listened intently, their expressions shifting from fear to hope, back to uncertainty, and then to quiet resolve.

I tried to focus on the doctor's words, but all I could do was watch Ella. Her frail body was tucked beneath the crisp hospital sheets, her breathing fast and shallow. She looked impossibly fragile as if she might fade away at any moment.

"We would need to act soon," Dr. Bennett said, turning to my parents. "It's not an easy decision, and there are risks involved, but it's a strong option." The room fell into silence. No one spoke. The weight of the decision pressed down on all of us. Mom squeezed Dad's hand, her face pale but determined.

I could see it—the silent question hanging in the air. Could we really put Ella through this again? More procedures, more hospital stays, more pain? But the alternative—the fear of losing her—was far worse."I think we should do it," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "It's not a guarantee, but it's the best chance she has."

Mom looked at me, her eyes searching mine for reassurance. "Do you really think it'll work?" she asked, her voice trembling with hope and uncertainty.I took a breath, my chest tight with emotion. "I don't know," I said honestly. "But I believe it's worth trying. We don't have much time, and... we can't afford to wait."Dad nodded, his expression grave but resolved. "We trust you, Beckett. If you think this is her best shot, then we'll do it."

Dr. Bennett gave a small nod of approval. "I'll make the arrangements," she said quietly before leaving the room.

As the door closed behind her, I felt the weight of everything settles over me again. I stared at Ella, my heart pounding in my chest, praying—hoping—that we'd made the right choice.Because if this didn't work... I wasn't sure how any of us would survive it.

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Word count:1,110