Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 171 - Chapitre 180

**Week One, Day Three**Lucas comes home on Friday, five days after collapsing in his apartment.The doctors aren’t thrilled about discharging him this early, but Lucas can be persuasive when he wants to be. “I’ll follow every instruction,” he promised Dr. Patel. “But I need to be home. Hospitals make me feel sicker.”What he doesn’t say, but I hear anyway: hospitals make him feel weak.Now I’m helping him into my guest room because there’s no way I’m letting him go back to his apartment alone, and he’s too exhausted to argue. Catherine wanted him to come to Westchester, but Lucas insisted on staying in the city. Close to his doctors. Close to work, even though I’ve forbidden him from thinking about work for at least a week.Close to me.“This is ridiculous,” Lucas mutters as I help him settle onto the bed. “I can walk on my own.”“You almost fell in the parking garage.”“That was one time.”“Twenty minutes ago.” I arrange pillows behind him, trying to make him comfortable. “And you’r

I pull him into my arms right there in the principal’s office, not caring about protocol or professionalism. “Lucas is not going to die. He’s sick, yes, but he’s getting better. I promise.”“But what if he doesn’t? What if he gets worse?” Ethan is sobbing now. “I can’t lose him too. I can’t lose another dad.”The words shatter me. Because that’s what Lucas has become to Ethan. Another dad. And now that dad is sick, and my nine-year-old is terrified of abandonment all over again.“You’re not going to lose him,” I say firmly, even though I’m crying too. “Lucas is going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”Principal Davidson hands us both tissues, her expression sympathetic. “I think Ethan needs some time to process what’s happening. Maybe consider counseling? We have a great child psychologist on staff—”“Yes.” I nod immediately. “Yes, whatever he needs.”By the time we leave the school, I’m completely drained. Ethan is quiet in the car, staring out the window.“I’m sorry, Mom,” he

“As with any major surgery, there are risks. Infection, bleeding, complications from anesthesia. There’s also a chance the disease could recur in a different part of your intestine down the line. But Lucas, I’ve been treating you for a year now. I’ve seen how aggressive your form of IBD is. Medical management alone isn’t controlling it anymore.”“How long would I have to decide?”“I’d recommend scheduling it within the next two weeks. We’ll keep you admitted for a few days to get the inflammation under control, but after that, the sooner the better.”Lucas is quiet, staring at his hands. I can see the fear in his face, the way his jaw is clenched.“Can we have a minute?” I ask Dr. Patel.“Of course. I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.” She stands, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder. “I know this is scary. But I truly believe this is the best option for you.”When she’s gone, I move to sit on the edge of Lucas’s bed.“Talk to me,” I say quietly. “What are you thinking?”“I’m thinking I’m

**Surgery Day - Monday, 5:00 AM**I didn’t think I slept at all.I’ve been lying here beside Lucas for hours, watching him breathe, memorizing the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hand is wrapped around mine even in sleep. We have to be at the hospital by six for pre-op, and the alarm will go off in fifteen minutes, but I can’t bring myself to move.What if this is the last morning I wake up next to him?The thought is intrusive, unwelcome, but I can’t shake it. Dr. Patel said the surgery has a high success rate. That Lucas is young and otherwise healthy. That everything should go smoothly.But should isn’t the same as will.Lucas stirs beside me, his eyes opening slowly. “Hey.”“Hi.” My voice comes out rough. “Did you sleep?”“A little. You?”“Not really.”He shifts to face me fully, and I can see the fear in his eyes that mirrors my own. “I’m scared.”“Me too.”We lie there, foreheads touching, breathing the same air, and I wish I could stop time. Just freeze this moment befo

**LUCAS POV****Post-Surgery, Day Three**Pain.That’s the first thing I’m aware of when I wake up. Not the gentle ache I’ve gotten used to over the past few weeks, but sharp, focused pain centered around my abdomen.“Lucas?” Serena’s voice, soft and worried. “Do you need more pain medication?”I try to nod, but even that small movement sends a wave of nausea through me. “Yeah.”She’s pressing the call button before I can say anything else. Within minutes, a nurse appears, checks my vitals, adjusts something on my IV. The relief is gradual but welcome.“Better?” Serena asks, and I can see the exhaustion on her face. Dark circles under her eyes. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing the same sweater from yesterday.“Have you slept?” My voice is rough, throat still raw from the breathing tube.“A little. Don’t worry about me.”“I always worry about you.” I reach for her hand, and even that simple movement takes effort. “You should go home. Rest properly.”“I’m not leaving.