“Konflict, I’ve had the guest room prepared. The doctor is already here,” Maureen Marquette called out, her voice thick with worry.
I didn’t think. I carried Serenity straight to the guest room, never letting her go. When I looked down at her, I saw her trying to open her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy, her body so weak my heart twisted again. Then, when I least expected it, she pressed her fingers to my chest, right over the tattoo she knew by heart, and whispered a name that froze my blood.
“Knox,” she breathed, her voice barely there, before her eyes slid shut again.
My heart skipped, then started racing all over again, faster, harder, as if the ground was falling away beneath me. Had she recognized me? Had she seen through every one of my lies? I didn’t have time to think about it because fear crashed back in. Her breathing was even weaker now.
I rushed to the bedroom and laid her down carefully on the bed. Her dress clung to her skin, soaked through, cold and heavy beneath my hands as I peeled the fabric away from her body. I also took off my mother’s necklace and earrings so I could keep them safe. I didn’t want her to be upset if she woke up and found something missing. Maureen had already set out dry clothes on the mattress. I lifted Serenity, sliding a loose shirt over herarms with slow, deliberate care before lowering her back against the pillows. My hands lingered at her shoulders longer than necessary—letting go of her, even for a second, still felt wrong. It was like loosening my grip might let something unseen steal her away from me again.
The Marquette family physician stepped in a moment later, medical bag already open, moving toward the bed. His calm efficiency almost pissed me off. My entire world had just shattered, and he moved like this was just another routine checkup.
He glanced at me as he reached the foot of the bed.
“Mr. Korven, I need space.”
“I’m not leaving.”
The words hung there, pointless. I didn’t move. My arms folded across my chest, eyes locked on Serenity’s face, every part of me rooted beside that bed with the stubborn certainty of a man who’d almost lost everything tonight.
He looked like he might push, but then he seemed to realize nothing he said would change a damn thing, so he turned back to Serenity.
His fingers found the side of her neck, pressing lightly against the artery under her jaw while his eyes tracked the rise and fall of her chest, counting silently.
“Pulse is weak… but present.”
The air in my lungs barely moved.
He lifted her wrist, checking the pulse again at the radial artery, then pulled a penlight from his pocket. Without realizing it, I leaned closer, focus locked on my woman, as the doctor slipped a stethoscope into his ears and pressed the cold disk to her chest, listening carefully as he shifted it to different points, concentrating on each breath moving through her lungs. The silence stretched too long. Stress ate me alive. She needed to wake up because seeing my beautiful, strong wife laid out likethis was hell.
He clipped a small pulse oximeter onto Serenity’s finger, watching the digital reading stabilize as it blinked. “Oxygen saturation is lower than ideal, but holding,” he murmured, noting it carefully. He also counted her breathing under his breath, tracking the rhythm with clinical focus before moving on.
Next, he took a professional-grade thermometer and placed it gently against her forehead, waiting for the reading. As the device beeped, he checked the result, his expression serious.
“Her temperature dropped from the water,” he said, then nodded toward the blanket at the end of the bed. “Cover her.”
I didn’t hesitate before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, tucking the fabric tight around her body, urgency leaking into every movement.
He moved on to check her pupils, shining a small light into each eye in turn. “Pupils responding normally,” he said after a moment, letting her eyelid fall.
Finally, the doctor glanced at me. “Her lungs are irritated. She inhaled some water.”
My jaw clenched. “Tell me she’s gonna make it.”
He looked at me, reassuringly. “You have nothing to worry about if her condition remains stable.”
He opened his bag again, pulling out a syringe and a small glass vial. The clear liquid caught the light as he drew it up with practiced precision.
My whole body became tense.
“What are you injecting her with?”
“A bronchodilator and an anti-inflammatory,” he answered calmly. “It’ll help keep her airways open and reduce the inflammation caused by the water.”
He disinfected the inside of Serenity’s arm and slid the needle in. She barely reacted. Just a faint tremor in her fingers.
He pulled the needle free and watched her breathing for several more seconds, eyes tracking the slow rise of her chest under the blanket. I stepped closer, unable to stay away, settling my hand on Serenity’s shoulder just to feel the fragile warmth beneath the fabric—to reassure myself she was really still here.
“She’ll likely stay unconscious for a while,” the doctor said. “The body sometimes shuts down after something like this.”
