I smiled too, but my heart remained heavy.
I took Horace back to the hospital, not realizing we were being photographed by paparazzi. The trending topics for the day were already wild enough, but now our pictures exploded online, shooting to the top three, right next to the news about the major pile-up in Baxo.
The news feed kept updating with reports of rescue efforts failing, the death toll steadily climbing.
My heart trembled. I paced my room, unable to sit still.
It was Steven, after all. My ex-husband. The man I had been entangled with for so many years. I had hated him, resented him, and wished every day that he would regret everything. I had been disappointed by him time and time again, but I never imagined he would be so grievously injured, hovering between life and death.
Still, it wasn't enough to make me go see him. I just... needed to know if he was dead or alive.
Gordon didn't call me again. Eight hours later, around four in the morning, a message came from Myron.
“Steven is out of the OR. Why didn't you come to the hospital to see him? He’s badly hurt and still unconscious.”
“The doctor said the surgery was successful. I'm going to see him tomorrow. Are you coming?”
I had been tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Seeing his message, I finally felt a wave of relief.
Steven was tough to kill. As long as he was alive, that was enough. At least his grandfather wouldn't have to bury another child.
Then, Myron sent another message. “Maybe you should still go see him. You didn't go tonight, and if you don't go tomorrow, when Steven wakes up, he’ll probably be—no, he’ll definitely be—furious…”
I didn't reply. I closed my eyes and slept until noon.
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