Chapter 2: The Battle for Grace
Inside the ER, the atmosphere was chaotic but controlled. Grace’s monitor was beeping erratically; her blood pressure was dropping rapidly due to severe septic shock from an untreated respiratory infection.
"Doctor, her temperature is hitting 104°F! We need to intubate!" a nurse yelled.
Michael forced his personal shock into a tight box. Right now, he wasn't a father who had just missed six years of his child's life; he was a surgeon. He snapped on fresh gloves, his eyes locking onto Grace’s pale face. Looking closely, he finally saw it—the slight curve of her nose, the shape of her jaw. She looked exactly like Lily, but she had his eyes.
"Prepare 10mg of dexamethasone and start a broad-spectrum IV antibiotic immediately," Michael ordered, his voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring in his veins. "I’m doing the central line insertion myself."
For two grueling hours, Michael fought the grim reaper for the life of his daughter. Every time the monitor dipped, his heart stopped. He poured every ounce of his medical expertise, every prayer he hadn't spoken in years, into the tip of his fingers.
Outside the glass window, Thomas stood watching, his hands pressed against the glass, praying for a miracle.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the harsh, rapid beeping of the heart monitor slowed down into a rhythmic, steady thump. Grace's breathing eased, and a faint tint of pink returned to her cheeks.
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Michael stepped back, sweating and exhausted, but a profound wave of relief washed over him. He walked out of the ER, pulling off his mask. Thomas looked up, eyes wide with fear.
Michael let out a shaky breath and smiled. "She's stable, Dad. She’s going to make it."
