Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 192

Chapter 192

“His system is rejecting the energy transfer,” Rocco muttered, his voice tight with tension. “This can happen sometimes with patients who’ve been in a coma for a long time.”

His words barely registered as my attention was completely consumed by the unfolding emergency. I could feel my fingernails digging sharply into my palms, a physical outlet for the helplessness swirling inside me. Time seemed to slow, each second dragging on endlessly until, at last, the shrill alarms softened and the monitors steadied, showing Dad’s heartbeat returning to a steady, reassuring rhythm.

I let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware I’d been holding it all along.

“He’s stabilizing,” Rocco said, relief seeping into his tone. “Your father is fighting.”

As the immediate danger passed, Andy came closer, positioning himself protectively at my side. I could sense the unspoken tension simmering between him and Rocco, though neither made any direct acknowledgment of the other’s presence.

“You okay?” Andy asked quietly, his voice gentle.

“I’m fine,” I replied, straightening my shoulders with as much resolve as I could muster. “Dad’s stable again.”

The hours crawled by, marked only by occasional updates from the medical team. By midnight, exhaustion pressed heavily on me, but I refused to leave my vigil.

During one of the quieter moments, Rocco spoke up. “You know,” he began hesitantly, “he and my sister…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry. Whatever happened between them, I think my sister was probably more at fault. Though, honestly, I don’t know the full story.”

I turned to face him, surprised by this unexpected admission. “Is that so? But you still punished him—punished us—all these years without knowing the whole truth?”

Rocco met my gaze, regret flickering across his features. “Yes. And I’m not proud of that now.”

I wanted to feel some sense of victory at his confession, but instead, all I felt was weariness. “I just want him to wake up,” I said simply, the exhaustion clear in my voice. “That’s all that matters to me right now.”

Around 3 AM, the door to the operating room swung open, and Ian stepped out, peeling off his surgical mask. His face was etched with fatigue, but beneath it was something else—an air of cautious hope that made my heart leap.

“The critical phase is complete,” he announced, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’ve successfully channeled the lunar energy through his neural pathways and cleared most of the toxins.”

I stepped forward, barely daring to believe. “Will he wake up?”

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