My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 62

Samuel's POV

"What were you thinking?" I yelled, my hands pressed hard against the wound on Fiona's chest, trying to stop the blood from spilling through my fingers. My voice shook with the kind of fear I hadn't felt in years-the kind that made your heart race and your mind spiral into chaos. I could feel her fading beneath me, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, and all I could think was how I failed her.

I was supposed to save her. But instead, she'd taken the bullet for me.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiles weakly, her lips trembling. "That... I love you," she whispers, her voice so faint I have to lean closer to hear.

"Don't talk." My voice broke as I cradle her closer. "I love you too, but don't talk, okay? You need to save your strength."

"But God... loves you more," she insisted, her words were even weaker now, each syllable a struggle.

God? How could she still talk about Him in a moment like this? My hands tremble as I keep pressure on her chest, feeling the warmth of her blood seeping through my fingers, staining everything. "No," I snapped, harsher than I intended. "God didn't take the bullet for me. You did! I didn't protect you like I promised. Don't talk about Him. This is my fault."

She tried to speak again, but it came out in a garbled mess of sounds. Then she coughs, violently, and blood spilt from her lips. Panic surged through me. What do I do? What can I do? I felt so utterly powerless. The one person who's ever shown me unconditional love is slipping away in my arms, and I couldn't stop it.

"Trust," she gasped, her hand trembled as she tries to reach for me. "Pray..."

"No! Fiona-stay with me!" My voice cracks, but she's already slipping into unconsciousness. I shook her gently, desperate. "Fiona? Fiona!"

"Lyle, drive faster!" I screamed at him. "Why aren't we at the hospital yet?"

"We're here," Lyle said, as he pulled up to the emergency entrance. His voice was strained, but steady.

The hospital doors flew open, and nurses rushed to us. They pulled Fiona from my arms, and suddenly, she was gone, wheeled through a maze of hallways, disappearing into a room where I couldn't follow.

I stood there, her blood on my hands, on my clothes, soaking into my skin. The smell of it filled my nose, and It felt suffocating. A surgeon comes out to speak to me, his face was grim. "We'll do everything we can, but it's going to be a difficult surgery. There's a slim chance of success due to the complications that could arise."

Slim chance. Those words echoed in my head, and all I could think of was the way she smiled at me before everything went black. The way she'd whispered, "Trust, pray."

Trust? Pray? After everything that's happened? No. Never.

I paced the waiting room like a caged animal, my mind was spinning. She trusted God, and look where it got her. Kidnapped, shot, lying on an operating table with her life hanging by a thread. How could I trust Him now? But I have to do something, anything. Sitting here, waiting, was driving me mad.

I stormed out of the hospital, my blood boiling. Fiona's words kept ringing in my head, mocking me. Trust. Pray. I'll pray alright, but not in the way she meant.

I drove like a madman, my hands gripped the wheel so tight that my knuckles turn white. The streets blur by, and with minutes I was parked outside her church. I got out, my heart pounding with a fury I'd never felt before. I broke in, kicking open the door. The sanctuary was dark, quiet. Empty. It didn't matter. I didn't care if God wasn't confined to this building-I needed something to hold on to, something to direct my anger at.

I stepped into the center of the room, staring up at the ceiling, before I let loose. "She was kidnapped because she came here to worship You!" My voice echoed off the walls. "And this is how You treat her? She believes in You, trusts You, and this is how You repay her? You couldn't protect her! You couldn't protect my wife or my baby, and now You want to take her away from me too?"

I felt close to insanity, yelling at the ceiling like a madman. "You're supposed to be all-powerful, right? So why? Why do You keep taking the people I love? I know why, because You're wicked and incompetent"

Suddenly, the air around me changed. It was subtle at first, a slight shift in the atmosphere, but then it became more intense. It was like the room itself was vibrating with energy. And then, a voice-not loud, not booming, but filled with such power that it rattles me to my core spoke. "Who do you think you are talking to?"

I freeze, my body locking up as if the words themselves are binding me. I look around, but there's no one here. Yet the voice echoes again, this time stronger, pressing down on me with an overwhelming force. "Who do you think you are talking to?"

The presence in the room became unbearable. It was as though something infinitely greater than myself was bearing down on me, making me feel small, insignificant, mortal. The weight of it was crushing, and before I know it, I was on my knees. The pressure didn't stop. It kept building until I was flat on the ground, face pressed to the cold floor. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. All I could do was feel.

In that moment, I realized how powerless I truly was. I thought I was strong, in control, but I was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Memories flooded my mind-the car accident that killed Maggie and our child, the countless times I should've died but didn't. I thought I survived because of my own strength, my own skill. But now, lying here, I knew the truth. It was never me.

"I give and I take," the voice said, reverberating through my soul. "Blessed be My Name."

Tears blurred my vision as the weight of everything crashed over me. Fiona's words came back to me, softer this time. Trust. Pray.

I couldn't form any coherent thoughts. The only word that escaped my lips was , "Mercy."

"Mercy," I whisper again, though I didn't know if I was asking for myself or for Fiona. The word became a chant, a plea, something primal and desperate. I stayed there, broken, for what felt like an eternity, until the overwhelming presence began to lift. Slowly, I found that I could move again, but I didn't get up. I stayed where I was, shattered and empty.

And then, in the quiet, the voice spoke once more. "A contrite and broken spirit I will not overlook."

Immediately, I heard a beep from my phone. My hands were shaking as I pulled it from my pocket. A message from Lyle: Doctor says the surgery was a success. Fiona will get better.

I dropped the phone and get on my knees. Talking to God again, this time not with anger or fear, but with gratitude. My chest haves as I prayed for the first time in years. "Thank you," I whispered. "Forgive me. Thank you for saving her."

I didn't know how long I stayed there, but when I finally rose, I felt different. Lighter, somehow. Changed.

When I returned to the hospital, Lyle was waiting outside the ICU. He looked me over, frowned, before saying. "You look like you've been to hell and back."

"No," I replied quietly, "I've felt God."

I walked into Fiona's room, and my heart clenched at the sight of her. She was so fragile, hooked up to machines, her skin pale, but alive. I sat by her bed and took her hand, praying silently for her recovery. She'd be okay. We'd be okay. And for the first time in years, I truly believed it.