Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 151

Chapter 151

Damon pov

I held my breath, every part of my body rigid with terrified anticipation, watching the surgeon’s careful, measured expression as she finally spoke.

“He made it through surgery,” she said, and I felt the first wave of relief crash through me before she continued, her expression still carrying obvious gravity. “But I need to be honest with you about what we found. The combined trauma tonight-the wound, the cardiac event, layered on top of the damage from his previous episodes-has significantly compromised his heart’s function. More severely than we’d hoped.”

“But he’s alive,” I said, needing that confirmation restated clearly despite the complicated weight of everything else she was telling us.

“He’s alive,” she confirmed. “Stable, for now. But the damage is extensive enough that we believe he’ll likely need a heart transplant going forward. His current heart simply may not be capable of sustaining him long-term, not after everything it’s endured these past several weeks.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, my legs suddenly unable to fully support the weight of everything crashing through me at once-relief that he’d survived, terror at the magnitude of what she was actually describing, the sheer, overwhelming complexity of what a heart transplant would actually mean going forward.

I sank into the nearest chair, my hands trembling, understanding distantly that beside me, my mother had begun sobbing, her earlier careful composure finally shattering completely under the weight of everything the surgeon had just revealed.

“A transplant,” my mother said, her voice breaking entirely. “That means—how long would he need to wait? Is there even a compatible donor available?”

“We’ll begin the evaluation process immediately,” the surgeon said gently. “Compatibility testing, placement on the appropriate waiting list, though I want to be honest that wait times can vary considerably depending on availability and compatibility factors.”

“How long can his heart actually sustain him, in its current condition,” I asked, my voice rough, forcing myself to actually process the practical reality of what she was describing despite the overwhelming emotional weight still crashing through me.

“That’s difficult to predict precisely,” she admitted. “With careful management, minimized stress, strict adherence to whatever treatment protocol we establish, potentially considerable time. But I won’t minimize the genuine severity of his current condition. His heart has sustained damage across multiple episodes now, and tonight’s combined trauma represents a significant additional strain.”

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb everything, understanding distantly that Evelyn had moved to sit beside me, Willow settled quietly against her shoulder, her free hand finding mine and holding tight.

“Can we see him,” my mother asked, her voice still thick with tears despite her obvious effort to compose herself enough to actually ask the practical question.

“Briefly,” the surgeon confirmed. “He’s still under sedation, likely won’t wake for several more hours, but you’re welcome to sit with him.”

We made our way into his room together, and I felt fresh grief crash through me at the sight of him-pale, still, wired to considerably more monitoring equipment than even after his previous surgeries, looking genuinely fragile in a way that struck deep, terrified fear into my chest.

My mother moved immediately to his bedside, taking his hand, her tears falling freely now without any attempt at restraint.

“You promised me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You promised you’d fight to stay.”

“He is fighting,” I said quietly, moving to stand beside her, watching the steady, if concerning, rhythm of the monitoring equipment. “He’s still here, Mom. Whatever comes next, whatever this transplant process actually requires, he’s still here right

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now.”

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She nodded, though her tears continued, and I found myself watching him, replaying everything-his desperate shove that had saved me from Genevieve’s attack, his staggering steps toward the cliff’s edge, the moment I’d managed to haul him back from the precipice, understanding with fresh, aching clarity exactly what his sacrifice tonight had genuinely cost him.

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