The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 82

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Silence

“Mr. Blackwood, I need your consent for surgery.” Dr. Emily held out a clipboard with forms. “Time is critical.”

Daniel took the pen with numb fingers, signing without reading. His hand moved automatically while his brain struggled to process.

Junior. Surgery. Brain damage.

“We’re prepping the OR now,” Dr. Emily said. “You can see him briefly before we take him up.”

She led them into the trauma bay.

Daniel wasn’t prepared.

Nothing could have prepared him.

Junior looked impossibly small on the adult–sized gurney. Tubes everywhere. Monitors beeping. Ventilator breathing for him. Head wrapped in gauze already soaking through with blood.

Face pale as death.

“Oh God,” Clarissa whispered, hand over her mouth.

Daniel moved to the bedside on autopilot. Took Junior’s small hand in his. So cold. Too cold.

“Papa’s here,” he said, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay.”

No response. Just the mechanical hiss of the ventilator. The steady beep of the heart monitor.

“We need to move,” a nurse said gently. “OR is ready.”

Daniel didn’t want to let go. Couldn’t let go.

But they were already unlocking the gurney wheels, already moving toward the doors.

“I love you,” Daniel called after them. “Junior, I love you.”

The doors swung shut.

And Junior was gone.

Daniel stood there, staring at the empty space where his son had been, feeling something crack inside his chest.

Clarissa sank into a chair, sobbing into her hands.

Margaret appeared in the doorway, face ashen. “How is he?”

“Surgery,” Daniel said flatly. “Brain swelling. They don’t know if-” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Margaret’s carefully maintained composure crumpled. She sat heavily in the chair beside Clarissa, aging ten years in an instant.

They waited in silence.

Minutes crawled by like hours.

Daniel paced. Sat. Stood. Paced again.

Clarissa stared at her hands, still stained with Junior’s blood.

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Margaret made phone calls in a low voice, canceling tomorrow’s dinner party, notifying family.

An hour passed.

Two.

Dr. Emily finally emerged in surgical scrubs, mask pulled down.

Daniel was on his feet immediately. “How is he?”

“The surgery went as well as could be expected. We relieved the pressure. But there was significant trauma. He’s in ICU now, induced coma to let the brain heal.”

“When will he wake up?”

“We’ll keep him sedated for at least forty–eight hours. Then we’ll gradually reduce sedation and monitor response. But Mr. Blackwood…” Dr. Emily’s expression turned grave. “You need to understand. Even if he wakes up, we don’t know what deficits he might have. The injury was severe.”

“What kind of deficits?” Margaret asked sharply.

“Memory loss. Motor impairment. Speech difficulties. Personality changes.” Dr. Emily paused. “Or he might recover fully. Every brain injury is different. We won’t know until he wakes up.”

“Can we see him?” Clarissa’s voice was small, broken.

“Immediate family only. Two at a time. Five minutes.”

Daniel and Clarissa followed a nurse to ICU.

Junior was in a private room, surrounded by more machines than Daniel could count. Head bandaged. Ventilator still breathing for him. Monitors displaying numbers Daniel didn’t understand but knew weren’t good enough.

“Five minutes,” the nurse reminded gently, then left.

Daniel approached the bed slowly, each step feeling like walking through water.

This was his fault.

All of it.

He brought Clarissa back. He separated Junior from Alina. He locked Alina away. He ignored Dr. Linda’s warnings. He listened to Margaret’s manipulation instead of his own instincts.

And now Junior was here. Unconscious. Broken.

Because he climbed a bookshelf alone.

For a book Alina gave him.

That Alina would have gotten for him.

If Daniel hadn’t taken her away.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel whispered, touching Junior’s small hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Clarissa stood on the other side, crying silently.

The five minutes ended too quickly.

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They moved to the ICU waiting room. Margaret joined them, bringing coffee no one drank.

Midnight came and went.

Nurses gave updates. Vitals stable. No change. No improvement. No decline.

Just waiting.

At two AM, Daniel’s phone buzzed.

A text from Mrs. Helen: “Mr. Blackwood, should I tell Nyonya Alina about Junior? She’s still sleeping but when she wakes…”

Daniel stared at the message.

Alina.

He hadn’t thought about Alina since arriving at the hospital.

She didn’t know Junior was hurt.

Didn’t know he was in surgery.

Didn’t know the child she raised was fighting for his life.

“Who is it?” Clarissa asked.

“Mrs. Helen. Asking about Alina.”

“What about her?” Clarissa’s voice went cold.

“Should we tell her. About Junior.”

“No.” The word was sharp, absolute. “She doesn’t deserve to know. This is family only.”

“She raised him for five years-”

“And where was she today?” Clarissa stood, anger cutting through grief. “Where was she when Junior needed someone to get that book? Where was she when he fell?”

“She’s not allowed to be with him unsupervised. You know that.”

“Exactly! Because she’s dangerous! Unstable! And now Junior is in ICU because no one was watching him properly!

Margaret stepped between them. “Both of you, stop. This isn’t helping Junior.”

But Clarissa wasn’t done. “If Alina had been doing her job instead of–of whatever she was doing–Junior wouldn’t have climbed that shelf. Wouldn’t have fallen. Wouldn’t be here!”

The words echoed in the small waiting room.

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