Chapter 24
The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air—sharp, cold—as Cain Mysia stepped into the long hallway of the neurological ward. His shoes echoed with each step, slow and deliberate. It was his first visit to see Chicago since the accident—since the night everything had spiraled into chaos. Until now, he had kept his distance. Not out of apathy, but because he couldn't bear to see her like that. Still. Silent. Broken.
But today was different.
Dr. Sylvia had called him earlier that morning. The surgery, she said, was over. It had lasted ten excruciating hours—ten hours during which Cain had paced his office like a caged animal, unable to focus on contracts or meetings. Brain surgery. Even the word had made his chest tighten. But Dr. Sylvia had sounded confident. The operation had gone well. Chicago was stable.
"She's out of danger now," the doctor had said. "But she's still unconscious. Her brain needs time to recover. Speak to her. It helps more than you know."
Caleb had already visited earlier in the day, sitting quietly by her bedside. He'd left a few hours ago, exhausted but hopeful.
Cain had no more excuses. He was less busy now, with his father having returned to the UK after confirming that Caleb would be discharged today. The company was in safe hands, and the real crisis—his family's crisis—demanded his presence.
He stopped outside Room 506, his hand hovering just above the handle for a moment. Drawing in a slow breath, he pushed the door open.
The room was dim, the blinds half drawn. Machines hummed softly, steady and rhythmic—each beep a sign of life. Chicago lay in the hospital bed, her face pale but peaceful. A gauze bandage wrapped gently around her head, her hair neatly braided away from the surgical site.
Cain's heart clenched. She looked so small, so fragile—nothing like the fiery, stubborn girl who always had a sarcastic remark ready for him.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"Hi, pumpkin," he said softly, his voice rough with an emotion he barely recognized.
Moving closer to her bedside, he took a seat beside her. The chair creaked under his weight, but he barely noticed. He reached out and gently touched her hand.
It was warm. Alive.
"Your sister needs you to wake up," he whispered, brushing his thumb along her knuckles. "She's been through hell, and she's trying to be strong… but I see it in her eyes. She needs you. We all do."
For a moment, the room remained still. The monitors kept their steady rhythm, and Cain tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He was not a man who cried. He never had been. But this... this was something else. A helplessness he couldn't strategize his way out of.
Then it happened.
Her fingers twitched.
It was slight—barely there—but Cain felt it. He blinked, unsure if he'd imagined it. Then it happened again. A soft, unmistakable movement.
"Chicago?" he said, rising from the chair.
Her hand twitched once more.
Cain didn't hesitate. He pressed the emergency button and called out into the hallway. "Dr. Sylvia! Someone get Dr. Sylvia, now!"
Within moments, footsteps thundered down the corridor. Dr. Sylvia and a nurse entered quickly, her expression alert and focused.
"Mr. Mysia, please step outside for a moment," she instructed firmly.
Cain didn't argue. He backed out of the room, his heart pounding like a war drum. He stood in the hallway, watching the door anxiously, running a hand through his dark hair. Every second felt like an eternity.
What if it wasn't real? What if it had just been a reflex? What if she slipped back under?
Then, finally, the door opened.
Dr. Sylvia stepped out, pulling off her gloves, a look of cautious optimism on her face.
"She's no longer in a coma," she said.
Cain stared at her. "What?"
"She's unconscious, yes. But no longer in a comatose state. Her brain activity has changed. She's responding. Whatever you said, whatever moment just happened—it reached her."
Cain exhaled slowly, the breath leaving him like he'd been holding it for days.
"She's stable?" he asked.
"More than that. She's improving," Dr. Sylvia said with a small smile. "If this continues, she could wake up within the week. Maybe sooner."
Cain rubbed his jaw, his throat dry. "So... she's really coming back."
"She is," Dr. Sylvia confirmed. "But we have to be patient. Speak to her. Tell her stories. Keep her grounded. That's how you pull someone back."
Cain nodded, staring at the closed door like it was the barrier between hope and heartbreak. "Thank you, Doctor."
"She's a fighter, that one," Dr. Sylvia added. "You can go back in, if you'd like. Just keep it calm."
Cain reentered the room slowly. Chicago's eyelids fluttered slightly, though her eyes remained closed. The hand he had held moments ago lay still but no longer limp.
He sat down again, this time leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
"I knew you'd fight," he murmured. "You've always been tougher than the rest of us."
The silence responded like a quiet promise.
Cain didn't know how long he sat there—ten minutes, an hour, maybe more. But he didn't move. He stayed, whispering stories from their childhood, from Caleb's reckless adventures, from the night Kassia said she wanted to leave New York.
He told her how proud he was. How strong she was. How much the world would burn if it ever dared to hurt her again.
And as he spoke, he could swear her breathing steadied. Her fingers twitched once more.
It was subtle.
But it was hope.
For the first time in weeks, Cain felt something bloom in his chest—not rage, not exhaustion.
It was the feeling of something returning.
Of someone coming home.
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Thanks for reading guys
Xoxo
CC