He Gave Me 99 Surgeries for His First Love, the 100th Killed Me Chapter 03

He Gave Me 99 Surgeries for His First Love, the 100th Killed Me Chapter 03

When I woke up again, I was in the ICU.

Nathaniel was still badly injured, his bandages not even removed yet, but he sat beside me in silence for three days and three nights.

After I was discharged, he never brought it up again.

He was still gentle with me, but he never touched me after that.

I thought he was just grieving and guilty over the baby, so I didn’t dare raise it either.

To save him, I lost my child and nearly my own life.

All I got in return was one word. “Irresponsible.”

The searing pain in my skull grew sharper, pulling me back to the present.

My scalp was cut clean open and held apart with retractors.

Before I could even get used to that tearing sensation, the sound of the drill started.

Cecilia’s movements were clumsy—the drill bit kept missing its mark, hovering in one spot for three passes before finally catching.

Powdered bone flew everywhere, much of it sticking to my face.

Cold sweat soaked through the surgical sheets. I couldn’t hold back any longer and cried out in pain.

“CeCe, stop for a second.”

Nathaniel’s voice came through.

I thought he was finally feeling some pity for me.

But when I looked, he was looking down.

A little dog was circling his feet.

“Muffin came looking for you.”

A smile touched his eyes.

The pressure on the drill eased.

Cecilia set down her instruments and, still in her surgical gown, rushed over to scoop up the dog.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I missed your feeding time! It’s all that mean Elena’s fault!”

She rubbed its head, taking the food bowl from the nanny. “I know you only want Mommy to feed you. You must be starving, huh? Eat up, sweetie.”

I lay there on the operating table, my skull open, watching her feed her dog in what was supposed to be a sterile surgical suite.

Nathaniel turned to meet my eyes and frowned.

“Why are your lips so pale?”

He picked up a bowl of broth from the side and walked toward me. “Here, drink this.”

I felt a little dazed.

It reminded me of when I was pregnant—he used to get up early to simmer soup for me and bring it to my bedside.

Sometimes I’d be too lazy to get up, and he’d coax me in that same gentle voice.

“Drink up. I simmered it for over two hours. Have pity on me, won’t you?”

I was lost in the memory and didn’t answer.

Cecilia spoke first.

“Nate, that’s for Muffin. She doesn’t deserve such an expensive supplement.”

He explained.

“She’s too weak. I’m afraid she’ll die on the table before the surgery even finishes.”

“You worked so hard for this practice session. I don’t want to see you disappointed.”

“Just let Muffin go without today. I’ll buy her plenty of treats when this is over.”

“Fine,” she said, holding her dog and looking at me with condescension. “You got lucky. If you survive, remember to thank us.”

I almost laughed out loud.

They were force-feeding me a dog’s broth, and I was supposed to be grateful.

The soup was poured down my throat by Nathaniel’s hand, bitter and salty.

The last gulp went down, and the drill started up again.