“Then maybe something else happens. Or nothing happens. You don’t know.”
“I told him to take Breaker.”
Caleb gripped the back of my neck. “The truck lost its load. You didn’t put it there.”
A surgeon came in at two fifteen.
Dr. Saira Bell was small, composed, and still wearing a surgical cap patterned with yellow birds.
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
“Noah is out of surgery,” she said.
My knees weakened.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
Dr. Bell motioned for us to sit, but I couldn’t.
“We repaired the internal bleeding and stabilized his pelvic fractures. His arm will need further treatment, but that is not urgent. The neurosurgical procedure relieved the pressure caused by the bleeding around his brain.”
“So he’s safe.”
“He is stable.”
“That means safe.”
“It means his condition is not worsening at this moment.”
The correction was gentle and devastating.
“What happens now?”
“We’ll move him to intensive care. He is being kept sedated and supported by a ventilator. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are important. We’ll monitor swelling, blood flow, and neurological response.”
“Will he wake up?”
“We expect to reduce the sedation when it is appropriate.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Her eyes held mine. “We do not yet know what his recovery will look like.”
Caleb shifted beside me.
Dr. Bell continued. “Head injuries can affect movement, speech, personality, memory, and cognition. Some changes are temporary. Some are not. It is too early to determine the extent.”
“He knows me.”
No one answered.
“He’ll know me when he wakes up.”
Dr. Bell folded her hands. “I hope so.”
