Chapter 226
Chapter 226:
“Mrs. Kensington,” Dr. Shaw said evenly. “Please lower your voice.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Eleanor rushed to the bedside. “Vivian, baby, look at Mommy. You’re safe.”
Vivian blinked, focusing on Eleanor. “My hand,” she slurred. “I can’t feel my fingers. Why can’t I feel my fingers?”
Dr. Shaw displayed the X-ray on the wall monitor. It was a mess of white bones and dark shadows.
“The knife severed the radial nerve,” Dr. Shaw said, pointing to a jagged line. “And it nicked the median nerve. We reconnected what we could, but…”
“But what?” Edward asked, his voice hoarse.
“The damage is extensive,” Dr. Shaw said. “Permanent motor loss is likely. Fine motor skills will be severely compromised. Playing instruments, intricate tasks… she won’t have the dexterity.”
The word permanent hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
“No,” Eleanor whispered. “She plays the piano to accompany her voice. It’s part of her act. She’s… she’s perfect.”
“Not anymore,” Vivian whispered. The drugs were wearing off, replaced by a cold, sharp panic. “You said the best surgeons. You promised!”
“I got the best!” Eleanor cried, grabbing Dr. Shaw’s arm. “Fix it! Do it again!”
“It’s not a car engine, Eleanor,” Edward snapped. He walked to the window, unable to look at his wife. “You can’t just replace the parts.”
Vivian tried to move her hand. Nothing happened. It was a dead weight against her chest.
Panic spiked on the heart monitor. Beep-beep-beep-beep.
“Get it off me!” Vivian screamed, thrashing. “It’s dead! Cut it off!”
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“Restrain her!” Dr. Shaw ordered the nurses. “She’ll tear the sutures!”
Two nurses rushed in, holding Vivian’s shoulders down. Vivian screamed, a raw, animal sound of loss. She looked at Eleanor, her eyes wide and wet.
“It’s your fault!” Vivian shrieked. “You told me to invite Monica! You told me to use her!”
Eleanor froze. “I… I was trying to help you build your image.”
“My image?” Vivian laughed hysterically. “My image is holding a knife! And now I’m a cripple!”
She reached for the glass of water on the bedside table with her good hand and hurled it. It shattered against the wall, inches from Eleanor’s head. Shards of glass rained down on expensive marble.
“Sedative,” Dr. Shaw ordered. “5mg Haloperidol.”
“No!” Vivian sobbed as the nurse injected the IV port. “Don’t put me to sleep! I don’t want to wake up!”
Her thrashing slowed. Her eyelids drooped. The sobbing turned into a low, pitiful whimper.
Aurora watched from the hallway, through the glass observation window.
She felt nothing.
No joy. No triumph. Just a cold, clinical confirmation of cause and effect. Vivian had played with lives, and now her own life was shattered. It was physics. Equal and opposite reaction.
Dr. Shaw walked out of the room, pulling off her gloves. She saw Aurora standing there.