On Our Fifth Anniversary My Husband Begged Me Not to Leave Chapter 15

On Our Fifth Anniversary My Husband Begged Me Not to Leave Chapter 15

I drove through the night.

When I burst into the hospital corridor, my mother was still in surgery.

The doctor’s face was grim.

“Her condition is critical. She needs immediate surgery. But our hospital doesn’t have the capability. We recommend transferring her.”

The world went cold around me.

Just like three years ago.

My father.

The same words.

That time, I lost him.

This time, I was supposed to lose my mother too?

My legs nearly gave out.

Then—footsteps.

Someone was running toward me.

“Let me take over.”

Everyone froze.

The local doctor’s eyes went wide.

“You’re… Dr. Hayes?”

—

Ethan nodded.

“Give me the chart.”

He scanned it in seconds.

“We can do this here. Prep the OR. I’ll operate.”

The surgery lasted eight hours.

When the light above the OR door finally clicked off, Ethan walked out looking pale as death, sweat soaking his forehead.

“The surgery was successful.”

The breath I’d been holding for eight hours finally escaped my chest.

I looked at his exhausted face and said quietly, “Thank you.”

He flinched—like those two words burned worse than anything else I could have thrown at him.

“It was the least I could do,” he said, his voice barely audible.

—

He swayed on his feet. I reached out instinctively and caught his arm.

“Ethan, you should sit down.”

He looked at my hand on his arm, then back at my face. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

“You used to hold me like this,” he said softly. “When you were worried about me.”

I let go immediately and stepped back.

“Go rest. I’ll stay with my mother.”

He nodded, but he didn’t move.

“Stella, about three years ago—”

“Don’t.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “Not now. Not here.”

He closed his mouth, nodded again, and finally walked away.

I watched him go. The exhaustion on his face, the slight drag in his step—it reminded me of the man I’d once loved with my whole heart. The man who used to stay up all night studying, then still show up at my door with breakfast.

But that man was gone.

Or maybe he’d never really been there at all.

I turned and walked into my mother’s room. She was still unconscious, connected to machines that beeped softly in the dark.

I pulled up a chair and sat beside her bed.

For a long time, I just sat there, watching her breathe. Then I leaned forward and whispered into the quiet room:

“Mom. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t respond. But I stayed anyway.