Chapter 300
Gemma’s POV
I feel my breath catch.
‘Dependency’- the term is so sanitized, but the meaning is brutally clear.
I remember Mr. Smith muttering about the difficulties of managing Mikhail’s “medications abroad. I’d assumed it was about an allergy from antibiotics or something simple.
I never imagined this!
“The bullet shrapnel is still lodged in his abdomen, it’s a constant source of physical trauma. If it isn’t removed, the long–term prognosis is… concerning.”
My mind flashes back to the stories, the near–fatal injury from his military service.
“But the fragment is dangerously close to vital organs, isn’t it? Surgery would be incredibly risky. Can you even guarantee he will survive the operation?”
“I can’t offer guarantees, only probabilities. But leaving it in is also a guarantee…a guarantee of chronic pain, infection, and this… The pain management has created a separate, compounding problem. We’re caught between two dangerous
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paths.”
I run a hand through my hair as a weary sigh escapes me. I knew he had injuries, but I had no idea the situation was this dire. The doctor’s warning echoes in my head: It could jeopardize his life.
How much of this does Smith truly know?
I make my way back to Mikhail’s room, where Harold is just coming out of.
The moment he sees me, he grabs my arm, his grip tight. “Ms. Blackwell, please, you have to talk to him! He’s insisting on checking himself out. He can’t… he just collapsed!”
I push the door open without another word, to find Mikhail, his face ashen and beaded with a cold sweat, clumsily trying to pull the IV catheter from his hand.
“What are you doing?”
I demand, striding over to the bed.
He doesn’t look at me, his focus entirely on freeing himself. “I don’t need this.”
“You fainted an hour ago, Mikhail! You’re in no state to go anywhere.”
“I said, I don’t need it.”
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A horrible understanding dawns on me: he passed out because he’s been trying to go without the painkillers,
The withdrawal, combined with the agony of his injury, overwhelmed his system. I plant my feet by his bedside, “Lie down. NOW! If you take one step out of this hospital, I will call Mr. Smith immediately and tell him to cut off your access to every single painkiller on this planet.”
That makes his hands go still. He looks at me, and I see the shock in his eyes. He knows I’m not bluffing.
“What’s the difference between being dependent on pills and being an addict, Mikhail? You can’t live like this. You can’t let this thing control you.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Gemma! You don’t know what this feels like.”
“Don’t I? You have a piece of metal buried in your gut that causes so much pain you need to drug yourself into numbness every single day! Is that clear enough for you?”
It’s a low blow, exposing his deepest vulnerability. He flinches, and the shame on his face is a painful thing to witness.
“Finish the infusion.“I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll figure out the rest after you’re stable.”
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I turn and walk out, closing the door firmly behind me. I need to call Mr. Smith.
I stride down the hallway, pulling out my phone, but as I pass a half–open door to another room, a raised voice makes me freeze.
“Haven’t you done enough, Mom? What more do you want from me?”
It’s Reyna, “You wanted me to get Lisette’s medication, I did it. You wanted me to clean up your financial mess, I found a way. What else could you possibly be dissatisfied with?”
There’s a muffled response, then Reyna’s voice cuts through again, louder. “No, of course you’re not satisfied. You wanted me to marry Cassian, and I didn’t manage that, did I? That’s the one thing that really matters to you!”
I don’t need to hear any more. All the mess in my life ultimately leads to a mother’s bottomless hunger and a daughter’s twisted sense of obligation.
Reyna’s POV
I feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like someone was just listening. I turn sharply toward the hospital room door, but the hallway is empty.
Good! The last thing I need is some nosey nurse overhearing this.
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