Asher stormed into Henry's apartment angrily but found the place quiet. He walked upstairs, searching around, calling his name. Just then, he received a call.
"Asher Thompson?" The unfamiliar voice crackled through the line.
Asher's brows knitted, his heart tightening in his chest. "Who is this?"
"This is Mercy General Hospital. Your son, Henry Thompson, was brought in last night. He is… he has been in a severe accident."
For a second, the entire house seemed to blur around Asher. His pulse hammered. "What?" His voice dropped, dangerously low. "What do you mean accident?"
The voice on the other end hesitated, professional but strained. "A car accident, sir. Fatal injuries. He is currently in critical condition. We need you here immediately."
Without a word, Asher ended the call. His hand trembled faintly as the weight of those words sank in. The anger that had driven him here evaporated, replaced by panic clawing at his throat. He bolted down the stairs, ignoring the eerie silence of Henry's apartment.
Within minutes, Asher's car tore through the streets, engine roaring as he sped to the hospital. His mind replayed every argument between him and his son. His jaw clenched tighter with each passing red light he ran.
By the time he stormed into Mercy General's emergency ward, his breath was ragged, face dark with barely controlled rage and fear.
A young doctor approached, clipboard in hand, eyes cautious. "Mr Thompson?"
"Where is he?" Asher demanded.
"Sir, please…"
"Where is he?" Asher snapped.
The doctor steadied his voice but there was tension behind it. "Your son came in last night around midnight."
Asher's eyes narrowed sharply. "And no one thought to inform me sooner?"
"He was found unconscious at the crash site with no form of identification. His phone and wallet were missing, possibly stolen. We only identified him this morning through hospital records when he regained brief consciousness. That is how we found your contact."
Asher's eyes locked onto his. "I do not understand what you are trying to say."
The doctor hesitated, bracing under Asher's searing glare. "Sir, until we knew who he was, there was nothing to inform. He had no identification, no phone. It was pure chance he mumbled his name when he briefly woke up. We traced him through our system."
Asher's fists clenched at his sides, the edges of his control fraying. But before he could respond, the sound of heels striking the hospital floor sliced through.
He turned, and walking towards them was Evelyn, his ex wife.
Her eyes were red rimmed, face pale, her breath shaky as she approached.
"Doctor…" Her voice cracked, raw with fear. "Where is he? Where is my son, doctor?" she asked, looking at Asher, then the doctor immediately.
She barely spared Asher a glance, her entire focus tunnelling onto the doctor.
"Where is he?" Her voice wobbled under the weight of terror. "Where is my son?"
The young doctor, clearly rattled by the tension radiating off both parents, gestured toward a hallway. "Please, let us speak privately first."
Evelyn's gaze darted between Asher and the doctor, panic storming behind her eyes. But she followed, her legs weak beneath her.
Asher's jaw clenched but he trailed silently beside them.
They entered a small consultation office, a sterile room with harsh fluorescent lighting and faint antiseptic lingering in the air.
The doctor exhaled as he closed the door behind them.
"My name is Dr Grayson," he began, his voice low and professional but the sorrow in his eyes was unmistakable. "Henry, your son, suffered severe trauma from the collision. Multiple fractures, internal bleeding, and…"
Evelyn covered her mouth, already trembling.
"And?" Asher pressed, his voice ice cold but brittle beneath the surface.
Dr Grayson's eyes softened with practiced sympathy. "There is significant spinal damage. His lower spine was crushed in the impact. We are doing everything medically possible but…"
"But what, doctor? Speak to me," Asher's tone sharpened.
The doctor hesitated, bracing himself. "His best chance of survival and long term recovery requires a spinal graft. A donor. Specific tissue compatibility. We are already searching but it is rare."
Evelyn's knees nearly buckled as she collapsed into the chair, tears pouring down her cheeks. "You are saying without it, he…"
"He may never walk again," Dr Grayson cut in gently. "And there is a risk of total paralysis spreading. His vitals are unstable. We are fighting to stabilise him but that graft could mean everything."
Asher's throat constricted, his pulse pounding in his ears. "Money?" he asked bluntly. "I do not care the price. You get what is needed."
The doctor shook his head, regret heavy in his eyes. "This is not about money. It is about compatibility. It is genetic, impossible to buy your way around that. It is a human factor, one that is incredibly hard to find."
Silence filled the room but was broken by Evelyn's sobs, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
"I need to see him," Asher ordered.
Dr Grayson nodded, his posture tightening. "He is conscious, barely, but disoriented. It is best you both prepare yourselves. He does not look like himself."
Evelyn burst into a loud cry when she heard what the doctor said.
Asher hesitated and walked towards Evelyn to console her, stretching his arms.
"Do not touch me," she warned him, as she continued to sob.
Asher looked at Evelyn, then turned to the doctor, who nodded.
They followed Dr Grayson through winding hallways that smelled of antiseptic and quiet despair. The dull beep of monitors filled the silence and nurses passed by with sympathetic glances.
Finally, they reached the private ward and Dr Grayson paused, hand on the door. "He is fragile. Speak gently."
They walked in and the sight of Henry shattered the walls around Asher's heart.
Henry lay pale, tubes snaking from his arms, oxygen mask secured over his face. Deep purple bruises bloomed across his skin.
Evelyn let out a broken sob, her hand flying to her mouth as she stumbled forward.
Asher remained frozen in the doorway, his throat thick, eyes burning.
"Henry," Evelyn choked out, gripping his hand, her tears falling onto the bed. "Mum is here, sweetheart. I am here."
Henry's eyelids fluttered faintly, a weak groan escaping him.
Asher's feet moved on their own, closing the distance until he stood on the other side of the bed. His hand hovered over Henry's, trembling.
"Henry," Asher's voice cracked, barely a whisper, raw with unshed grief as he looked over his son's battered body. "My son."
Henry stirred, his lips parting, the faintest whisper leaking out. "Dad?"
Evelyn sobbed harder, squeezing Henry's hand.
Asher finally let his palm rest against Henry's, fingers curling around the weak, cold skin.
"How?" Asher whispered, voice raw with emotion. His eyes locked onto his son, fierce and pained. "I need to know those who brought him in last night," he said, turning to the doctor, walking out. The doctor followed.