The Bonds We Keep

Trials

Estellas pov 

(This is after Beckett and Dr.Bennett had spoken to Cadence and Caspian)

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the low hum of the oxygen machine beside me. It was a sound I had grown so used to that it barely registered anymore. What did register was the pressure in the room—the tension that settled in with the arrival of Beckett and Dr. Bennett. It was like the air itself was waiting for something, some kind of decision that only I could make.

While I was sleeping earlier Mom had told me that Beckett found something that could help me and she wanted me to listen to what my doctor and Becks had to say to see if I wanna go through with it.

 Luca,  leaned against the wall by the window, arms crossed, his face drawn tight with concern. He was always the one who held things together, the glue that kept us from falling apart when things got tough. But even he looked strained like he didn't know how much longer he could pretend everything was going to be okay.

Jasper couldn't keep still, pacing back and forth near the door, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his leg. Every time he paused, his eyes flicked to me before darting away, like he couldn't stand to see me hooked up to all these machines. He had always been the energetic one, full of life, always moving, always talking. Seeing him like this—silent, tense—it made everything feel even more real.

Atlas and Ace, the twins, stood together at the foot of my bed. Usually, they were inseparable and full of jokes, like life was one big game. But today, they weren't joking. Atlas had his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, while Ace stood with his arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced with a serious frown. I hated seeing them like this. They didn't know how to deal with me being sick, none of them did, but they were trying.

Milo was seated near Beckett, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie, his leg bouncing up and down in that nervous way he always did when he didn't know what to say. He was only 19, but it felt like he'd aged years since my condition had worsened. I caught him glancing at me every few seconds, his face pale, his lips pressed tightly together. He was trying to stay strong too, but it was clear that this was all weighing heavily on him.

And then there was Ethan, my twin, standing just a few feet away from my bed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pale. I could feel his eyes on me, but he hadn't said a word. He didn't have to. We never really needed words to understand each other. His silence was enough to tell me he was just as scared as I was.

Dad sat beside me, his hand resting on mine, the familiar warmth of his grip steadying me. He hadn't spoken much since Beckett had rushed into the room with that folder, his face filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. I knew Dad was struggling, trying to keep it together for all of us, but his hand trembled slightly against mine. He was trying to be strong, but I knew this was killing him inside. No parent should have to watch their child go through this.

Dr. Bennett's calm, measured voice broke through the tension, explaining the details of the clinical trial. She talked about the surgery they would have to do first, to stabilize my heart, followed by a series of experimental medications designed to strengthen the muscle. She didn't sugarcoat anything—the risks were clear. There was no guarantee that the trial would work. There were risks of complications, side effects, and more surgeries. But there was also a chance—just a chance—that it could help me. That it could give me more time.