The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 525

The bone marrow transplant proceeded much faster than she had ever dared to hope.

On the exact same day Abacus underwent his intensive chemotherapy, Harris had already checked into the hospital to prep for his stem cell extraction. The moment the procedure concluded, Franco stood by his hospital bed and firmly gripped Harris's shoulder.

"Thank you. You saved my family."

The weight behind those words was staggering.

Harris knew exactly what this meant.

Abacus was Petty's entire world.

And Petty was Franco's.

He gave Franco's wrist a reassuring pat, silently accepting the profound gratitude.

Out in the corridor, Jay fell into step beside Franco.

"Boss, Nash just landed at the Locklear airport. He's traveling alone."

A predatory glint flashed in Franco's eyes. "Keep eyes on him."

Petty practically lived in Abacus's room, refusing to leave his side as he navigated the most critical, high-stakes phase post-transplant.

Modern medicine had dramatically reduced the risk of immune rejection, and Dr. Howell's elite team had taken every conceivable precaution before the operation even began.

While his immune system painstakingly rebuilt itself, Abacus had to remain in strict isolation.

His energy levels surged day by day, and he began drinking more milk. With his appetite finally returning, he started putting on weight, the hollows of his cheeks filling out into soft, healthy curves.

Petty was still confined to her bulky isolation suit, but watching Abacus bounce back so resiliently eased the ache of not being able to press a real kiss to his forehead.

Franco had outsourced all his corporate responsibilities to Jay and his uncle, Sebastian.

Petty's hand was securely wrapped around Abacus's tiny fingers—fingers that were finally, blessedly free of IV lines and needle pricks.

He walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress, gazing down at the mother and son in the quiet dark.

Abacus was looking healthier by the day, gaining weight and color, but Petty was wasting away, growing thinner by the hour.

After sitting there in absolute silence for an eternity, Franco slowly reached out and pushed up the sleeve of Petty's pajama top.

The original cut on her wrist had finally shed its scab, leaving behind a pale pink scar. It wasn't a deep or long wound; it would fade into nothing with enough time.

Franco continued pushing the sleeve higher up her arm. Suddenly, his fingertips turned to ice.

Right near the crook of her elbow, marred into her pale, delicate skin, was a frantic, chaotic cluster of bite marks. Every single impression was violently deep, a mess of purple bruising and inflamed red skin overlapping so severely he couldn't even count them all.

She had been biting herself.