Wrong Injection

CHAPTER 49

I stood beside Veronica's hospital bed, my fingers gently tracing the contours of her pale face as tears streamed down my cheeks. The fear of losing her and our unborn child was suffocating, and the weight of helplessness was crushing me. Veronica had been in this state for so long, with no response to treatment, and I felt like I was dying alongside her. I hated myself for being powerless, for not knowing how to change her situation. "Veronica, I know you can hear me," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Please wake up. Aren't you tired of lying here, surrounded by these machines? The fashion world is waiting for you, the runway, the shows, the lights. We've all missed you so much. Your dad misses you, I miss you... please wake up. Do it for our baby, please." Each word was a struggle, my voice cracking as I spoke. Just then, my phone beeped, breaking the silence. It was a message from Veronica's father, and my heart sank as I read the familiar threat: he wouldn't forgive me if anything happened to his daughter. The same message he'd sent almost daily, warning me that he'd take my life if I lost his daughter. His mafia connections only added to my stress, though I knew he was all talk and no action. Still, the threats took a toll on me, piling onto the anxiety and grief that already consumed me.

"Mr. West, please excuse us," Dr. Jones said as he walked in, and I nodded, rising from the chair beside Veronica's bed.

"Of course," I replied, stepping aside to give the medical team space.

"It's time for her check-up," Dr. Jones explained.

"Of course, go ahead," I said, watching intently as the nurse adjusted Veronica's infusion and the doctor monitored her heartbeat. "Any improvement?" I asked, hoping for some positive news. But Dr. Jones's expression was somber.

"Still in the same state, I'm afraid. If she remains like this for the next two months, we'll have to operate." My heart sank at the mention of surgery.

"Operation? Why?" I asked, feeling a wave of anxiety.

"Hopefully, the baby will be seven months developed by then, and it will be the perfect time for incubation since the womb is no longer safe for him," Dr. Jones explained gently. "If we don't intervene, his heart rate will continue to drop. I'm sorry, but this is the best course of action to ensure the baby's safety." I felt a knot in my stomach, worried about the risks and what lay ahead for both Veronica and our unborn child.

But I raised an eyebrow, confused by Dr. Jones' reference to the baby as "him." "Him?" I asked, seeking clarification. Dr. Jones nodded apologetically.

"Yes Sultan, it's a boy. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you; we had to check the baby's gender yesterday." The news brought a surge of joy, and I couldn't help but glance at Veronica, wishing she could share in the happiness.

"That's fine," I said, trying to process the information.

Dr. Jones continued, his expression serious. "As I was saying, the baby's breathing is slowing down each day. He needs to be incubated as early as next two months." I nodded, trying to stay focused on the medical aspect.

"That's totally fine, but I hope Veronica will be fine as well?" Dr. Jones' response was somber.

"I can't assure that, I'm sorry." I nodded sadly, my gaze drifting back to Veronica, feeling a mix of emotions – hope for our son's health and concern for Veronica.
~~~
I trudged into the living room, feeling drained and empty, but a small spark of excitement flickered within me. Dr. Jones' news about the baby's gender had brought a glimmer of joy to an otherwise bleak day. "Hey, Mom," I greeted, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.

"Hey" she replied with a curt, without looking up from the book she was engrossed in. I lowered myself down in front of her, and she finally closed the book, her expression neutral.

"Ain't you going to ask how my day was? Or visited Veronica?" I asked, feeling a bit miffed that she wasn't immediately interested in my well-being.

"How is Veronica doing?" she asked, her tone a bit cool, still carrying the undertone of her displeasure with my decision regarding Milani.

"Same, but I have good news," I said, trying to shift the focus. Her gaze met mine, curiosity sparking in her eyes. "We're having a boy," I announced, a small smile creeping onto my face. Then Her expression transformed, and she gasped in delight.

"Really?" She asked, her eyes lighting up with excitement, and I nodded, feeling a small sense of pleasure at her enthusiasm.

"This is great news Sultan. You've finally gotten a successor," she said, her fingers gently raking through my hair. "This is a great blessing, and Milani is having a girl. I'm so happy to know I'll be a grandma to two beautiful children," she continued, her voice filled with joy. But as soon as she mentioned Milani, my smile faltered, and my mood shifted.

"I'll be in my room," I said abruptly, trying to extricate myself from the conversation.

"Because I mentioned Milani?" She asked, her voice perceptive, as I stood up.

"I'll be back for dinner," I said, already walking away, not wanting to engage in a discussion about Milani.

"She is here," Mom said, her words stopping me in my tracks.

I turned around, a confused look on my face. "Who is here?" my curiosity piqued despite my attempt to brush off the conversation.

"Milani is here, and she'll be staying here," She announced, her words sparking a firestorm of anger within me. I furrowed my brows, my nose flaring as I struggled to contain my rage.

"With all due respect, Mom, who asked you to bring her here?" I demanded, my teeth clenched in frustration.

"Do I need permission to bring a woman carrying your child to your home?" she shot back, her eyes flashing with annoyance. She stood up, her movements abrupt, and hurled the book she was reading onto one of the chairs in the living room. "Such insolence," she muttered, her tone dripping with disdain.

My anger boiled over, and I punched the wall, the impact a release of the pent-up fury that had been building inside me. Mom's decision to bring Milani into my home had pushed me to the edge, and I was furious.

"I don't care if you break down the house or break your hand. She is here to stay," She said, her voice firm and unyielding.

"Mom, mom, mom!" I yelled, punching the wall for the second time, feeling my anger and frustration escalate. I was on the verge of losing control, and I knew I had to calm down, but Mom's stubbornness was pushing me to the limit.

"Go ahead, punch it again," she taunted, her eyes flashing with challenge. I stood there, seething, my fists clenched at my sides. "Come on, break down the house," she provoked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You're making this more difficult for me Mom," I warned, trying to reason with her. But she was unmoved.

"No I'm not, you're the one running away from your responsibility," she shot back, her words cutting deep. I exhaled heavily, rubbing my face in frustration. I couldn't help but think about how much easier this would be if only Mom would listen.

"I wish I could explain it to you, but I don't know how. Mom Just ask her to go back, please," I pleaded, desperation creeping into my voice. But Mom's response was resolute. "I'm not going to do that."