Chapter 2 - Trauma Bay 2
Behind the thin yellow curtain of Bay 2, three nurses and a doctor were hovering over the woman in the yellow dress.
Monitors beeped in erratic, rapid rhythms: HR 142. BP 82/50. SpO2 88%.
The woman lay completely still against the white sheet. Without the chaotic backdrop of the airport, she looked impossibly fragile. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, with deep grey shadows carved under her eyes. Yet even in unconsciousness, there was a striking, quiet dignity to her features—a high bridge on her nose, dark straight brows, and long dark lashes that rested against her hollow cheeks.
“Mom!” Hope cried out, trying to surge forward.
Cameron caught her gently by the waist, holding her back just enough to give the medical team room to work.
“Hold on, sweetheart,” Cameron murmured. “Let them help her.”
Dr. Harrison—a tall, silver-haired physician in a blue lab coat—stepped away from the bed, pulling off his latex gloves as he recognized Cameron.
“Cameron?” Dr. Harrison looked bewildered. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Japan for the Nikkei merger.”
“I missed my plane, David,” Cameron said sharply. “What’s wrong with her?”
Dr. Harrison pulled Cameron two steps aside, keeping his voice down so Hope wouldn't hear every detail.
“Severe malnutrition, advanced exhaustion, and acute toxic shock caused by an untreated kidney infection that’s gone systemic,” Dr. Harrison said gravely. “Her body simply gave out. If she hadn't collapsed where there were people nearby, she’d be dead in twelve hours.”
Cameron’s jaw set into an iron line. “What’s her prognosis?”
“We’re putting her on broad-spectrum antibiotics and IV fluids immediately,” Harrison said. “If her heart holds up through the night, she’ll survive. But she needs intensive care, Cameron. This isn't something a couple of days of bed rest will fix. She’s been running on pure adrenaline for months.”
Behind them, a small monitors chime sounded a sharp alert.
The woman on the bed stirred. Her dark lashes fluttered, then opened slowly. Her grey eyes were unfocused, swimming with confusion as they swept past the ceiling tiles, the IV poles, the doctor, and finally landed on the tall man holding her daughter.
“Hope...” her voice was a dry, broken rasp.
“Mom!” Hope broke free from Cameron’s grip and threw her arms over her mother’s chest, weeping quietly into the thin yellow cotton of her dress. “You woke up! The mister helped us! He didn't let them leave me!”
The woman’s hand, weak and trembling, raised slowly to touch her daughter’s curls.
Then her grey eyes moved up to meet Cameron’s.
For a second, the busy trauma bay seemed to lose its sound.
Cameron stared at her face. The way her grey eyes caught the harsh fluorescent light—unusual, piercing, and startlingly familiar.
He had seen those exact eyes before.
May you like
Not in a boardroom. Not on a news broadcast.
Twenty years ago. In a small, rain-swept orphan facility in upstate New York, before he was adopted by the West family empire.
