After Shaun and Angela left, Charles didn’t immediately reenter the room.
Instead, his proud figure leaned silently against the wall outside the door.
Inside, Janet sat quietly on the hospital bed, knees hugged to her chest, her delicate chin resting against them. Her wide eyes looked calm, even clear—but the spark that used to dwell in them was gone.
Neither of them spoke, separated only by a thin door. But they both knew—
"Janet, please live... just live, I’m begging you."
From the moment Janet was wheeled into surgery, Charles never once let go of her hands. Their fingers intertwined tightly, like the silk threads of a cocoon—delicate but impossible to break. That invisible string between their hearts... it pulled taut, unbreakable.
"Boss, I’m sorry. You can’t accompany her into the operating room. You’ll have to let go now."
Janet’s doctor stood by the gurney, his voice laced with unease. Charles’s eyes were bloodshot—he hadn’t slept a single second all night. He’d waited outside her room until she drifted off before stepping in, afraid that if she saw him, she’d sense his worry, feel pressured, and carry guilt with her into surgery.
So for one last night... he chose silence.
Janet knew he was there. Of course she did. But she respected his choice, and kept her eyes shut—preserving the illusion that might give him the strength to hold on.
Just like he asked... a little hope. A reason to survive.
And once again, he used that word—please.
Janet, eyes still closed, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Her fingers moved just slightly in his palm, a silent message written in touch:
I’ll bring Trista out with me. We’ll both return to you.
"Janet... Janet, I love you!"
Charles slowly released her hand, voice rising above the room, above the fear, above the watching nurses and doctors. He didn’t care anymore—didn’t care who was listening. At that moment, he would give everything he had, just to transfer a piece of his soul to her...
So she could survive.
"When I come out," Janet whispered with a soft smile, "I’ll say those three words back."
As their fingertips parted, the brilliant smile on her face bloomed like a lily—radiant and full of life.
And it was only then that Janet realized—
She had never told him I love you.
"I’ll wait," Charles said, his handsome face breaking into the brightest smile he’d worn in days—weeks, perhaps. This was the most genuine joy he’d felt in a long time.
Because now, he was sure.
Their love had never been the problem.
It was always... the timing.
When the doors to the operating room finally closed with a soft click, that sound echoed like a stone dropped into Charles’s chest.
Yet oddly full of hope.
One hour passed. Then two.
Angela and Samantha arrived right on time, just as Charles had arranged.
He hadn’t wanted Janet to be burdened with too much emotion, too many goodbyes. So only he had walked her to the OR.
But now, they were here. Her sisters in everything but blood.
One second. One minute. One hour. Two hours...
"Charles, try not to worry. These things take time," Samantha said gently, eyeing the man pacing anxiously outside the operating room.
The floor around him was littered with cigarette butts. No one dared stop him—this was, after all, his private hospital.
"I know," Charles muttered, rubbing his temples, his brows locked in a deep furrow.
It had already been four hours.
The walls were soundproof. Not a single noise escaped from inside.
He wanted to know what was happening.
But more than that...
He was terrified to find out.
The doors to the operating room swung open.
The doctor who stepped out was one of Janet’s attending surgeons.
When he saw Charles standing there, face clouded like a brewing storm, he hesitated before speaking.
"Boss... the baby’s condition is critical. She suffered from severe malnutrition in the womb. Her skin is pale, heart rate low, and her breathing is far too rapid. There was heavy bleeding from the umbilical area. She’s been rushed to the emergency ward."
"...What did you say?"
The words landed like thunderclaps in Charles’s ears.
He heard them—he felt their impact—
But all that remained was a loud buzzing in his skull. The doctor’s voice faded, and even Angela’s worried calls beside him became a distant hum.
All that remained... was the echo of that single, terrifying sentence.
Without thinking, he rushed toward the delivery room.
Janet was being wheeled out.
She looked pale, fragile. Sweat clung to her hair, her face.
Charles stopped breathing. He could only stare.
Then—he ran after her, completely forgetting the baby—
Forgetting Trista, his daughter, still fighting for life.
"Charles! Janet’s stable now! But your daughter—she needs you now!"
Angela grabbed his arm, nearly trembling with frustration.
But he didn’t stop. His eyes were fixed only on the woman being wheeled toward the ICU.
Charles’s voice was sharp, his gaze unshakable.
In that moment, he had no room in his heart for anything or anyone else.
Samantha’s voice was firmer. Calmer. She stepped in front of him, her hand clutching his arm. Her eyes were wide, intense.
"Trista inherited your RH-negative blood type," she said, each word precise, like a scalpel cutting through the haze in his brain. "She needs your blood right now."
"Janet’s going to wake up, and when she does—what do you want her to see? That her daughter didn’t make it because you were too obsessed to act?"
Samantha shoved him hard in the chest, her own heart aching.
She understood Charles’s love for Janet.
But this—this blind panic, this tunnel vision—it would cost them everything.
Trista, just born, already suffering more than most people did in a lifetime.
How much pain could such a tiny body endure?
Angela was nearly in tears herself.
She wanted to scream, to shake him back to his senses.
He reminded her too much of Shaun back when Callum was born.
That same expression of desperation. That same overwhelming fear.
Except back then, she was the one in critical condition—
And Charles was the first to hold Callum when Shaun was paralyzed by fear.
"Move. The idiot’s lost his damn mind," Shaun said, suddenly appearing behind them.
Without another word, he grabbed Charles by the collar and shoved him toward the emergency room.
There was no time for patience.
Thanks to the Elwin family’s rare blood type, Trista’s chances were already slim. They couldn’t afford more delays.
Angela turned to him, eyes red, tears falling freely.
"Trista’s suffering so much. If Callum ever bullies her in the future, promise me—we’ll both gang up on him."
Her voice broke, caught somewhere between sorrow and helpless rage.
If Janet knew how serious things were with Trista, how terrified would she be? How heartbroken?
Shaun exhaled, his expression darkening.
"I promise," he said hoarsely. "No one’s allowed to bully our Trista. And once she gets better... we’re taking her home with us."
Then he added with a bitter twist of humor, "Doesn’t look like Charles gives a damn about her anyway."
He didn’t mean it. Not really.
But the anger in his voice masked something else.
He remembered his own moment of weakness.
When faced with a choice between the woman he loved and the child they made—
Just like Charles did now.