Chapter 1435:


    “Don’t lose hope just yet,” Carsen said, noticing Maia’s solemn, almost frozen expression. His voice was unusually soft in the quiet office — steady and low. “The brain has an incredible capacity to adapt. Recovery is not impossible.”


    He reached out and rested a hand lightly on Maia’s shoulder. The warmth seeped through her clothing, offering a subtlefort.


    “But regardless of everything else, the surgery isplete,” he continued. “The fragment that constantly endangered his life has been removed. Chris will no longer suffer from those excruciating headaches, nor will he face the constant risk of seizures. That alone is a major victory.”


    Maia listened, her head nodding slowly. His logic was irrefutable. The oue she had fought for so desperately was the only one that had ever truly mattered. Chris was alive. His heart was beating. And where there was life, there was still hope.


    She inhaled deeply and exhaled the tension from her chest.


    Carsen was right. They had already achieved the best possible result. Even if Chris woke and no longer remembered her, Maia resolved to start over. She would reintroduce herself, rebuild their connection from the ground up. Their bond, formed long ago, had been deep and enduring — she was confident it could be rekindled.


    She pictured the moment in her mind: Chris seeing her for the first time with unfamiliar eyes, and she stepping forward, hand extended, smiling. “Hello, Mr. Cooper. Nice to meet you for the first time. I’m Maia Watson. Your wife.” She wondered what expression would cross his face. Surprise? Confusion? Or perhaps the faintest flicker of recognition?


    A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. The tension in her eased, reced by a quiet resilience — like the calm after a storm.


    “I understand, Dr. Walsh,” she said, her voice clear. “Perhaps it’s pointless to worry about things that haven’t happened yet. May I go sit with him now, even for just a little while?”


    Carsen studied the redness beneath her eyes and the exhaustion etched into her pale features. A flicker of sympathy crossed his face. “Of course,” he said. “But keep quiet. Don’t speak to him or try to wake him. Let hime around on his own.”


    He paused, then added, “As your mentor, I have to insist — you need sleep first. You’re on the edge of copse. If Chris wakes and sees you this drained, even if he doesn’t remember you, he’d worry.”


    He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a set of keys, the metallic clink sharp in the silence. He handed one to Maia. “This opens the doctors’ rest room next door. There’s a bed inside. Rest first, then go and watch over him.”


    Quality trantions on


    Maia looked at the key for a moment, then up at Carsen’s concerned eyes. She knew she had reached her limit — pushing any further risked copsing at the most critical moment. She took a steadying breath and epted the key. The cool metal pressed into her palm, sharpening her awareness just enough.


    “All right. Thank you, Dr. Walsh,” she said softly.


    In the observation room beside the ICU, machines hummed in steady rhythm.


    Chrisy motionless, his head swathed in thick bandages, his skin pale as parchment. Each breath beneath the respiratory mask released a faint mist into the air. Then, ever so slightly, his long fingers twitched — a faint spark of life.


    Inside his mind, chaos surged.


    Consciousness plunged into a stormy abyss. Dreams crashed over him like waves — cold, damp, and oppressive. He felt confined, jostling in a cramped space that reeked of gasoline. He was in the passenger seat of a car. Outside, a dense fog swirled violently against the windows, obscuring the road and any sense of direction. Only the engine’s roar filled his ears.


    Then a familiar voice pierced the mist. “Chris…”


    Gentle, yet urgent — carrying a tremor that made his heart contract. He knew that voice. It belonged to his mother.


    He turned sharply, and with the movement the gray fog seemed to scatter. There she was: Nic. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale from the effort. Her eyes were sharp and focused as she pressed hard on the elerator, navigating treacherousnes with precision. Eachne change was a gamble with fate, teetering on the edge of disaster.


    “If we get separatedter, don’t try to find me.” Her voice was low and urgent, stripped of its usual softness — nothing but determination remained.


    Fear gripped him like a vice. His body seemed to shrink, his voice faltering into a childish whimper. “Mom… I don’t want to be apart from you.”


    .


    .


    .<hr>


    Message from Noa: New week with renewed hopes! Have a great week, dear readers. God loves you, and Noa wishes you all the best. (?O?=)? ?


    .