Page 153 of My Damaged Protector

Ian has beenin a coma for two weeks now.

After finding out how serious his situation was and passing out while I was at it, I immediately signed for his operation when I gained consciousness back.

The surgery was successful. About twenty-four hours after, he was taken off sedation because of how well he was responding to treatment.

But then he woke up, gasping for breath and scared out of his mind, only to slip into a coma.

That's been over two weeks now. Two weeks of never once leaving his side. Two weeks of forcing myself to sleep and eat for the sake of our child while being scared out of my mind that he may never get better.

Saying it's been emotionally draining would be an understatement. I'm barely keeping it together.

Everybody tries to help. Sheila, Mandy, even Peter. But I refuse to take his help. I had him removed from the room the first time he came, and he's not been back since.

I don't care if he's feeling remorseful or not. None of this would have happened if not for him.

Sheila calls daily, checking in on me, trying to keep me sane.

As for Mandy, she's been a lifesaver. Always checking on me first thing in the morning and ensuring that I get everything I need before going home every night.

She's tried to get me to go home with her a couple of times so I can sleep in a proper bed. I refuse every time. I'd rather sleep on the seat than leave his side. What if he wakes up again scared and I'm not there to calm him down?

I was barely successful the last time as it is.

I bathe in his room’s bathroom with the door open as fast as I can. Everything I eat, Mandy is the one getting it. I honestly don't know what I would have done without her these past weeks.

On cue, my phone chimes with a text. I smile when I see it's from her.

Amanda: I'm coming soon. You better not be stinking.

That's her way of indirectly asking if I've showered.

I start to type a response back to her.

Me: I've showered today, thanks for asking.

I press send and then dump the phone back in my pocket, letting my eyes trail back to him. I try not to cry at the sight of him. I've been doing so much crying lately it's becoming exhausting.

He looks nothing like the man who told me he loves me and then promised to get me dinner on his way back. If only I hadn't let him leave.

He's hooked to a ventilator. At first, he was able to breathe on his own. But after a few days he's unable to. The doctors keep telling me he's doing better, but it's hard to believe it. He doesn't look good!

My phone rings in my lap, startling me. I notice a slight shift in his face and wait for any sign that he may be awake. I don't see any, so I pick up the call.

“Auntie?” I say.

There's no word from her end though, making me take the phone away from my ear to be sure she's the one who called.

She is.

“Sheila, are you there?” I ask, getting concerned. It's unlike her to call and not speak immediately.

“Mom, it's me.” Olivia's voice comes through.

I pause, not sure what to say. She's been refusing to speak to me for weeks now. Nothing Sheila does has worked. What changed?

“Sweetheart, how are you doing?”

“I'm not okay,” she says in that sweet voice of hers. My heart aches, wishing I could take her pain away.

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