Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter LVIII - DON'T GIVE UP ON US

Gabrielle twisted the doorknob ever so slowly, her breath coming in short, heavy gasps as she steeled herself to see Vincent in the Intensive Care Unit of the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery at Queen Square, London. He had been rushed there immediately after the ill-fated morning when his car had crashed, following a night spent drowning himself in alcohol. Initial investigations suggested he had been driving under the influence, resulting in the collision with a lorry on his way home. Yet as the investigation progressed, it appeared that his brakes had failed, raising the possibility of foul play.

The moment Adrijan's call ended, Gabrielle had arranged a private plane and flown to London, Veronica sleeping soundly in her arms.

Just like Vincent, Veronica had been admitted to the same hospital, making it easier for Gabrielle to supervise both of them simultaneously.

"Mommy... whewe awe we?" the little girl asked upon waking and finding herself in an unfamiliar place.

"We're at the hospital, baby..." Gabrielle said, kissing her forehead.

"Mommy...?" Veronica looked around before raising her eyes to her mother.

"Will dada visit me here...?"

Gabrielle could only hold her daughter closer, wishing she could answer yes. For now, it was only she who could see Vincent. Only she could comprehend what he was enduring, both as a man and as a doctor.

With heavy steps, Gabrielle approached the bed, closing the door behind her as gently as she had opened it.

Her eyes focused on the man lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines monitoring his pulse, blood pressure, and breathing. A respirator assisted his shallow breaths, a sight she prayed she would never have to witness.

She barely recognised him beneath the bruises covering his face. His shaved head was wrapped in thick surgical gauze. A cervical collar supported his neck, and an endotracheal tube kept him breathing. Multiple cords snaked around his body, a tangle as extensive as the bruises themselves.

Even as a medical professional, Gabrielle could gauge Vincent's condition at a glance. She sobbed, pressing her palm against her mouth as tears ran freely.

One shaky step...

Two steps, as her legs began to turn to jelly...

A third step, and her heart felt as though it were bleeding faster than the IV in his veins.

Finally beside the bed, Gabrielle gasped in horror at the man she had given and lost her heart to. Just looking at him, through tears that clouded her vision, she felt her heart shrink and her mind falter as if she herself were lying there.

His knees were braced, his right arm supported. Blood ran dramatically from the IV bag down the tube into his veins. Following the accident, the hospital's best surgeons had urgently operated on his head, removing broken portions of his skull and relieving the traumatic concussion. Another operation was scheduled within 24 hours to insert a platinum plate, patching the hole they had removed. She knew they had to act quickly; otherwise, he might not survive.

A 50:50 chance—the odds she refused to accept. He had to survive.

Seated shakily in the visitor's chair, clad in a hospital gown and hairnet to ensure Vincent's delicate condition remained unaffected, she reached for his left hand. His wedding ring—still on the same finger as the other half she had worn years ago—triggered a fresh wave of tears. He had never removed the ring, even as she had taken away everything about their shared life, leaving only the innocent life of Nic—their daughter, breathing the love they had once shared.

"Vince..." she whispered, bringing his huge hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles.

"Wake up... you bloody idiot." Her tears fell on his hand as she held it close to her face. "You can't do this, Vince... you can't hurt Nic this way..." She pressed his palms harder against her cheeks, shutting her eyes.

"Don't leave her..." she whispered, pausing to take in his once-beautiful face, now covered in purple bruises.

"You can't kill me again like this... you can't leave me now..." She gave in to grief, crying on top of his chest, feeling the slow rhythm of his breathing through the respirator.

"Don't leave us, Vince..." she sobbed, embracing him for the first time in so long. Her heart felt as though it were ripping apart, praying harder than ever for God to grant him strength, for them to return home together as a family, just as he had proposed only a week before.

It was now her turn to beg for the same chance he had once pleaded for.

"Please don't give up now... you can't give up... you have to stay... for Nic..." she cried, gripping his hand tightly.

"For us..." she added, pressing his palm against her tear-stained cheeks, hope written on her face.

"I'll be very frank with you..." the surgeon said, removing his spectacles and folding them neatly on the table between them.

"Mrs Walton... your husband's condition is critical. It was fortunate he was rushed here and admitted to intensive care immediately, but given how much blood he has lost and the impact of the accident on his brain, we cannot be certain he will survive another operation."

Gabrielle glanced at the CT scans on the board behind the doctor and sniffled. She was not blind to what he was implying, but that was no reason to give up. Vincent was alive, and she knew—no matter what—he would live.

"The duration of the operation might—"

"I will donate blood for him... I will donate even my own skull for him! Just keep him alive! He cannot die..." she cried, helpless, meeting the doctor's sympathetic gaze.

"I have lost everyone already. I cannot lose him... please, do everything. Vincent has to live..."

"Mrs Walton... I understand... but I must also tell you all the possibilities..."

"He could be in a vegetative state, could be visually impaired, or his brain may no longer function normally. He may not be able to read or write, eat unaided... he might not even recognise me or our daughter!" she screamed, losing control at having to hear it.

"I know! I don't care! He must survive! I will do everything—be his personal nurse, his therapist, teach him to walk, talk, live again! But you cannot let my daughter's father die like this!" She pressed her palms against her face, sobbing.

"You cannot let my husband die... I no longer care about the circumstances. I will feed him, nurse him, care for him all my life if he is alive..." Her shoulders shook with grief. She had seen far worse in her years caring for patients with traumatic brain injuries. Families left to endure loved ones trapped in wheelchairs or hospital beds for years, even decades... breathing but not living.

She could not accept that fate for Vincent.

No way. He had to live.

He would live, and she refused to imagine otherwise. Whatever the long-term consequences, she would face them. If he remained bedridden for life, she would care for him. She would prevent bedsores, wash him, dress him. She no longer cared—as long as he lived.

Selfish? Yes. But she would be selfish this one last time, to keep him alive. She would selfishly preserve his life so that Nic could have her father—something she had never imagined praying for so fervently.

She would be selfish—for herself, and for the love she never thought would resurface after all these years of isolating herself from him.