Bound To The Broken Alpha (Amy and Daniel) novel Chapter 44

**When Dawn Breaks Slowly Hope Finds Space To Grow by Jin Rowan**

**Chapter 44: Nothing New**

**CLARA**

**VA**

**28**

**Findsted**

Mark’s voice cut through the sterile air of the hospital room as he called for the nurse, urgency lacing his tone. Within moments, two nurses hurried in, their movements brisk and efficient. One of them deftly adjusted the IV line in my arm while the other focused intently on the monitor that beeped steadily beside me. “Her blood pressure is spiking,” one of them announced, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Clara, just breathe slowly,” Mark urged, his grip on my hand firm yet gentle. His voice, usually so confident, now held a note of desperation, as if he were willing me to find calm amidst the chaos.

As one of the nurses administered something through the IV, I felt the tension in my body begin to ease, though the ache in my chest remained stubbornly present. Mark didn’t relinquish his hold on my hand; instead, he settled into the chair beside me, his thumb softly tracing the contours of my fingers. I sensed he had words caught in his throat—perhaps an apology or a reassurance—but they remained unspoken, hanging in the air like a fragile promise.

When the nurses finally left, I turned my head slightly to meet his gaze. “You can go if you want,” I said, my voice a mere whisper. “You don’t have to stay here with me.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I’m not leaving you here alone, Clara.” His resolve was unwavering, and it warmed me in a way I desperately needed.

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me. “Then at least try to look at me the way you used to,” I murmured, hoping to bridge the chasm that had formed between us.

Silence enveloped the room once more, punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitor. The days that followed stretched out before me like an endless expanse, each moment dragging on as my body felt weaker with every passing hour. Simple movements, like turning my head or shifting my position, left me utterly drained. I loathed the feeling of helplessness that had crept into my life, wrapping its tendrils around me.

Doctors came and went, their hushed conversations filled with medical jargon that I struggled to decipher. I could read their faces, though; the furrowed brows and exchanged glances told me all I needed to know—things were not improving.

Mark remained a constant presence by my side, refusing to leave the room for long. Each morning, when I opened my eyes, he was either perched on the edge of my bed or standing by the window, his phone clutched in his hand. The moment he noticed me stirring, he would tuck it away, as if to shield me from the burdens of the outside world.

The monotony of hospital life began to seep into my bones. One morning, I watched him as he poured water into a cup, his movements careful and deliberate, before placing it beside me. “You should drink,” he said softly, his eyes filled with concern.

“I’m not thirsty,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled up a chair, determination etched on his face. “You need to stay hydrated. The doctor said—”

“I know what the doctor said,” I interrupted, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “I’m not a child, Mark.”

He sighed, the sound heavy with frustration, but he didn’t argue. “At least eat something later. You’ve barely touched anything since yesterday,” he pressed, his tone shifting from concern to insistence.

“I can’t keep it down,” I confessed, my voice tinged with defeat. “It just makes me feel worse.”

Mark leaned back in the chair, his expression turning serious. “Then tell the nurse to adjust your medication. You can’t keep skipping meals like this.”

I shot him a look of disbelief. “You sound just like my doctor.”

“Maybe I should be,” he said, attempting a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I didn’t return the smile. “You’re acting like this because you feel guilty.”

His brow furrowed. “Guilty for what exactly?”

“For not being here before,” I replied, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

“I’ve been here,” he insisted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

“Physically, yes. But mentally? You’ve been drifting away from me,” I pointed out, the truth of it hanging between us like a thick fog.

He looked down at his hands, the silence stretching uncomfortably. “I’m here now, Clara. That’s what matters,” he said, his voice softer, almost pleading.

I didn’t respond. Deep down, I could sense his efforts. He hadn’t mentioned Amy in days, and while that silence was a relief, it also felt heavy, as if he was holding back thoughts he was too afraid to voice.

The nurse entered to check my blood pressure, her expression serious as she examined the monitor. “It’s still unstable,” she noted quietly.

Mark’s eyes widened with concern. “What does that mean?”

“It means she needs to rest,” the nurse explained, her tone firm. “And she must avoid stress. Her body is under a lot of pressure.”

Once she left, Mark turned to me, his expression grave. “You heard her. You need to take this seriously.”

I let out a weak laugh, though it lacked any real humor. “You’re lecturing me again.”

“I’m worried,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “You almost stopped breathing. I thought—” He paused, rubbing his forehead as if trying to erase the memory.

“You thought I’d die,” I finished for him, my voice steady. “Say it, Mark. It’s not a secret.”

“Don’t joke about that,” he replied, his tone quieter now, almost pleading.

“I’m not joking,” I said firmly. “It’s just reality.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify