Page 117 of BounBound By Scars

Or was that just grief?

Footsteps neared, sharp and fast.

“Hannah Chawla’s family?” the doctor asked.

That was us.

“I’m her husband,” I rasped as I stood up and nodded at Dylan. “And he’s her brother.”

The doctor nodded. “Please follow me.”

I followed. Drifted.

We were led into a private room.

“The surgery was successful. I want to start with that.”

A breath. Ragged. Dylan’s or mine—I couldn’t fucking tell anymore.

We sat down as he introduced himself, then continued.

“The GSW to her lower chest resulted in significant blood loss. We removed the bullet and repaired the lung damage. She also has three broken ribs, a fracture in left arm, and a laceration above her right eye. The other superficial injuries should healquickly. She’s stable, and we’re moving her to the post-op ICU now.”

I should’ve been relieved. But then he kept going.

“But we do need to inform you… we’re unsure of the extent of brain damage. She coded once in the ER and twice on the OR table. Each time, it took us over sixty seconds to get her back.”

My breath stuttered. The world tilted.

“She was down long enough that oxygen deprivation to the brain is a real concern.”

He paused, then continued like he hadn’t just said something that shattered my bones.

“I’ve also been informed of the arrangements to transfer her to New York via a medical helicopter. It’s possible, but only if she remains stable for the next twenty-four hours. If her vitals drop again, I’ll advise against moving her. I must warn you, there’s still a chance she may not wake up. Or… code again during the ninety-minute transfer.”

I swallowed. It felt like choking on glass.

“Do you have any questions?”

I glanced at Dylan. He was mute. Hadn’t spoken a single word since she went down.

I cleared my throat, barely. “What kind of brain damage are we talking about? Best and worst case.”

The doctor gave me a soft, tired nod.

“Best case? No lasting damage. I’ve seen patients in her age and health bounce back within a few weeks. She might have some short-term memory gaps or disorientation, but she could recover fully.”

“And worst?”

He hesitated.

“Worst case… she may regain consciousness but have impaired cognitive function. Memory issues. Difficulty speakingor moving. Emotional dysregulation. If the brain’s frontal lobe suffered… she might not be the same person.”

My heart cracked. Actually cracked.

“Thank you,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure who I was thanking. Or why.

The doctor gave a sympathetic nod and left the room.

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