Alpha's Regret After the Divorce by Christina novel Chapter 193

Kira’s Perspective

I sat quietly beside Dad’s hospital bed, my back aching from hours spent in the same position, my eyes locked on his face, searching desperately for any sign of improvement. The steady beeping of the monitors filled the sterile room, their rhythmic sounds a small comfort amid the tension. According to Ian, who stood silently at the foot of the bed, scribbling notes on his tablet, the increased brain activity was a hopeful indication.

My gaze flickered back and forth between Dad’s pale, fragile face and the glowing screens. Every subtle change made my heart race with anticipation. This morning, his complexion seemed less ashen, more like the warm, familiar father I once knew. Instinctively, I reached out to smooth the blanket over his chest, needing to feel some control, some connection through the simple act.

“His neural pathways are responding remarkably well,” Ian said softly, glancing up briefly. “The lunar energy integration appears stable and consistent.”

I nodded silently, my voice caught somewhere between hope and disbelief. Behind me, I sensed Rocco’s quiet presence lingering in the corner, a shadowy guardian who kept his distance but never left my side. Through the glass panel in the door, Andy and Rebecca stood watchful and tense, their eyes never straying far from the room.

A dull ache throbbed beneath the bandage wrapped around my ankle, but I barely noticed it. All my attention was fixed on Dad—on the faint twitch of his eyelids, the gentle movement of his fingers brushing against the white sheet. These small, almost imperceptible signs felt monumental.

“Dad?” I whispered, leaning in closer as his fingers twitched once more. “Can you hear me?”

His eyelids fluttered, and my breath caught in my throat. I reached out, taking his hand in mine. His skin was cold and thin, nothing like the strong hands that had once lifted me onto his shoulders when I was a child.

“It’s me, Kira. I’m here.”

His head shifted slightly toward my voice, and then, finally, his eyes opened—unfocused at first, blinking slowly against the bright hospital lights. I held my breath, afraid to hope too much, even as my heart pounded wildly.

“Dad?” My voice cracked, betraying the flood of emotions inside me.

His gaze wavered before settling on my face, recognition dawning in his eyes. A weak smile tugged at his lips.

“My little girl…” he whispered, his voice rough and fragile from years of silence.

Tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them. “Yes,” I whispered back. “It’s me.”

Ian stepped closer, checking the monitors and Dad’s vital signs with practiced ease. “Welcome back, Alpha Silverstone. How are you feeling?”

Dad blinked again, confusion clouding his eyes.

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