My Enemy's Daughter (Edited)

Chapter 63

Fiona's POV

I woke slowly, as if clawing my way out of a thick fog. My chest ached in a dull, heavy way, and there was a faint beeping sound somewhere close. The ceiling above me was a blur of white light, and I blinked several times before realizing where I was. The hospital. The memory came crashing back-the gunshot, my father pulling the trigger, Samuel's horrified face as I fell. I tried to lift my hand, but it felt weighed down by the world itself. Tubes snaked around me, helping me breathe, and my throat felt tight and foreign, like it wasn't mine anymore.

Then I heard his voice, close but muffled as if it came from underwater. "Thank God you're awake." I blinked again, squinting through the haze until I saw Samuel sitting by my bed. There was relief in his eyes, but also something else-something that made my chest tighten even more than the pain.

Thank God? I must've misheard him. Maybe it was the drugs. Samuel thanking God? No, that didn't sound right at all. But before I could linger on the thought, the weight of exhaustion pulled me back under, and I drifted away again.

---

I woke up again and again in fits and starts, never fully coherent, just bits and pieces of faces and voices. Pastor Simeon's kind face, Dina's tearful smile, Ethan's comforting presence, Lyle's worried frown, and my mother's soft touch. But Samuel was always there, a constant presence through the blur. Sometimes, it was just a glimpse of him sitting quietly, his eyes focused on me, but at other times, I heard his voice-low and steady, reading from the Bible or murmuring prayers I couldn't make out clearly. I thought it must be a dream, some kind of feverish hallucination. Samuel reading the Bible? Praying? I told myself it had to be my mind playing tricks on me.

The days bled into each other. I couldn't tell how long I'd been in this room, tethered to machines that kept me alive. Samuel told me that the bullet had been buried deep in my chest, and the doctors had to work hard to remove it. They'd opened me up, he said. The details made me feel sick, but I couldn't express that. I was too weak to do anything but nod when Samuel asked if I was comfortable, or if the nurses adjusted my position. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The machines, the pain, and the fact that I had no control over my body.

But then, slowly, the tubes were taken out. My room changed. It was smaller, quieter, more peaceful. I could breathe on my own now, and the machines weren't buzzing around me anymore. I could feel that I was getting stronger, but still, my body didn't seem to obey me. My voice was trapped somewhere in my throat, too exhausted to come out. I wanted to tell Samuel to go home, to take a break. He looked tired-more than tired. His face was gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there before. He'd lost weight, and it bothered me. But whenever I tried to say something, my body failed me, and my frustration grew.

I couldn't stand it anymore. One day, I forced myself to speak, even though my throat felt like sandpaper. The sound that came out was a pitiful groan, and the pain that followed shot through my chest, making my heart race. The monitors around me began to beep rapidly, and Samuel jumped to his feet, his face pale with fear.

"Shh, Fiona, don't try to talk," he said gently, his hands hovering as if he wanted to touch me but wasn't sure where to start. "I know you're frustrated, but you need to give yourself time to heal. I'm here, I'll always be here for you."

I glared at him. That was the problem. He shouldn't always be here. He needed to rest, to take care of himself. Couldn't he see what was happening? He was burning himself out, and I was helpless to stop it. I watched him suffer, and it tore me apart.

He chuckled softly, and I blinked, surprised. "That's what's bothering you, isn't it?" he said, reading my thoughts as if they were written across my face. "You're worried about me, even now."

I stared at him, taken aback by how accurately he'd guessed.

"You never cease to amaze me, Fiona," he said, shaking his head with a smile that didn't quite reach his weary eyes. "Even when you're lying here, recovering from surgery, you're still worried about me."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead gently. "You just focus on getting better, okay? That's all I need. By God's grace, you'll be fine."

I froze. God's grace? My mind spun. Had I heard him correctly this time? Did Samuel just mention God? My heart leaped in my chest, but I couldn't speak to ask him.

He seemed to know what I was thinking, because he smiled again. "Yes, you heard me right. I'm never going to stop thanking God for keeping you alive."

I blinked at him, my mind reeling. Samuel was thanking God. Samuel had turned back to God? I had so many questions, but I couldn't voice any of them. I wanted to know everything. How had this happened? What had changed?

He grinned, seeing the curiosity in my eyes. "You want to know how it happened, don't you?"

I managed a small nod, and he pulled a chair closer to my bed. "Alright, I'll tell you."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and for the first time, I noticed how much he'd aged in the past few weeks. The weariness was etched into his features, but there was a new kind of peace there, too. A peace I hadn't seen before.

"It started the night you were in surgery," he began, his voice low. "I couldn't take it anymore. I was angry, frustrated. I was waiting outside the operating room, and I felt like I was going to explode. So I left. I couldn't stay there. And I... I might have broke into your church."

My eyes widened in shock.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. "I broke in. Broke the lock. Don't worry, nothing else was damaged. I've already apologized to your head pastor and also Pastor Simeon. Also, made a donation to the church."

He blushed, and I raised my eyebrows at him. Donation? Sounded like a bribe to me.

"It wasn't a bribe!" he protested, reading my expression. "It was an apology."

I squinted at him, and he quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, I was furious. I yelled at God. I accused Him of everything. I blamed Him for you getting shot, for not protecting you. I called Him incompetent." He paused, his voice faltering. "And then... then something happened."

His eyes darkened with the memory, and I could see the weight of it on him. "I felt His presence, Fiona. It was overwhelming. I couldn't move. I couldn't even stand. It was like... like He was pressing down on me, humbling me. I was nothing. Just a man filled with anger and pride, and He showed me how small I was."

He looked at me, his gaze intense. "I begged for mercy. I didn't even know if I was asking for mercy for myself or for you. I just... I knew I needed it. And He gave it. To both of us."

My heart swelled with emotion. I wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him how much this meant to me, but all I could do was blink, my body still too weak to move. But the joy I felt was overwhelming. Samuel had come back to God. He'd found his way back in the most unexpected, yet beautiful way.

"Now," he said, his voice softening, "I've given my life back to God. Not that it was ever really out of His hands in the first place. I just... I needed to acknowledge it."

I wanted to ask more, to hear every detail, but my body was betraying me again. Exhaustion pulled at me, and I could feel my eyes growing heavy.

"You've had enough for today," Samuel said, smiling as he gently brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. "Rest. You're going to get better. And we're going to do this together. I'll take care of you, but we'll let God take care of everything else."

I nodded weakly, a wave of peace washing over me. If Samuel could let God take control, then so could I. There was no need to rush, no need to fight against the healing process. I would follow Samuel's lead, and together, we would trust God's plan.

As I drifted off to sleep, I made a quiet promise to myself: I would heal at my own pace, trusting that God had everything in His hands. After all, that's what a good wife does-she's submissive enough to trust and follow her husband's lead knowing that he's following Christ, and I knew I was ready for that.

The last thing I felt before sleep claimed me was Samuel's hand in mine, steady and sure, a promise of love and faith renewed.