Chapter 244: To Fight
Catherine tore the blanket away from herself.
The sudden movement yanked at the IV cannula that had been inserted into the vein on the back of her hand. The tape ripped free, and a thin line of blood immediately trickled down her skin.
She did not even notice.
The monitor beside her erupted into frantic beeping, and a nurse rushed into the room.
"They waited three days," Caleb said hurriedly, following her as she stumbled out of bed. "The transplant coordinators are already involved. They’re trying to get the signature now."
Catherine’s entire body went cold.
"Three days?" she whispered.
Three days.
She had been unconscious for three entire days?
"I don’t trust them," Caleb continued, grabbing her before she collapsed as dizziness overwhelmed her. "One of my high school friends was declared brain dead after a football injury. They said there was zero chance of him waking up, and he still came back."
Catherine steadied herself against him.
"Where is he?" she demanded.
Her voice came out hoarse, broken.
"I have to get there before—"
She pressed a trembling hand against her temple.
Before they took him away. Before they gave up on him. Before they broke his promise.
"I’ll get your slippers," Caleb said.
But Catherine was already staggering toward the door.
The nurse reached for her bleeding hand.
"Miss Preston, your IV—"
Catherine brushed past her.
"She can’t sign."
Three days.
In her previous life, three days after her mother’s death, she had made the greatest mistake of her life.
No.
Not this time.
This time, she would wait.
She would wait for him no matter how long it took.
Because he had promised.
And Maximilian will not break his promises this time.
Caleb quickly slipped her slippers onto her feet and draped his jacket over her shoulders. It was deeply unsettling to see Catherine like this—her hair tangled, her face pale, completely indifferent to her appearance.
Catherine Preston would normally never walk through a hospital corridor in nothing but a hospital gown.
But she was not herself right now.
She was somewhere between terror and despair.
Realizing she could barely remain upright, Caleb grabbed her gently by the shoulders and hurried her toward the ICU.
Outside the unit, Eileen Morcant sat collapsed in one of the waiting chairs, sobbing quietly while Amelia held her tightly.
A doctor stood nearby, tablet in hand, the consent forms already prepared.
The moment Catherine saw them, something inside her snapped.
"Her signature is invalid!"
Her voice rang through the corridor.
Everyone turned.
Catherine moved forward, stumbling more than walking.
"I’m his healthcare proxy!" she shouted. "I have his will!"
That madman had left everything to her.
Everything.
Had he foreseen this?
Her thoughts were fractured, impossible to hold together. All she knew was fear. A primal, overwhelming fear that they would wheel him away, cut him open, and take pieces of him while he was still fighting to come back.
He had promised her.
He would not die.
He would not.
Catherine was coughing now, her body still weak, but she kept moving.
"Catherine!" Eileen stood abruptly.
Sophia and Samantha, who had been sitting nearby, immediately rushed toward her while Caleb stepped aside.
Catherine did not even look at them.
Her eyes were fixed solely on the doctor.
"Who are you?" she demanded. "Are you even a doctor? Didn’t you review his records?"
The doctor frowned.
"Ms. Preston, I understand that you’re upset—"
"You vultures can’t even wait to steal his organs, can you?"
The corridor fell silent.
Her head throbbed violently.
As a medical researcher, Catherine knew exactly how unfair and irrational she was being. She understood brain death. She understood organ donation. She understood that the doctors were simply doing their jobs.
But this was Maximilian.
Logic had died the moment she had seen him bleeding in her arms.
The doctor’s expression hardened.
"Ms. Preston, I need you to calm down."
"I will not calm down!" Catherine shouted. "Call the lawyer. Where is Alexander? Who authorized this? What’s the hurry?"
Then her gaze shifted to Eileen.
And her voice broke.
"How could you?"
Eileen visibly flinched.
Amelia immediately pulled her mother closer.
"You’re going too far, Catherine," Amelia said, tears streaming down her own face. "We’re all suffering and you can’t just—"
Her voice failed her.
She could not continue.
But Catherine was no longer listening.
With shaking hands, she snatched the consent forms from the doctor’s grasp. And tore them in half.
Alexander came rushing down the corridor.
The moment he saw Catherine standing there, pale and trembling but conscious, he visibly relaxed.
Then he turned toward Dr. Eileen Morcant.
"I’m sorry, Dr. Morcant," he said professionally. "Cathy is his healthcare proxy. The records were only updated a few minutes ago."
Dr. Eileen Morcant, a woman who had already buried her husband and was now standing on the precipice of losing her only son, staggered backward as though the words themselves had struck her. Amelia immediately wrapped an arm around her mother, holding her upright.
Catherine was no longer paying attention to either of them.
"Where’s his EEG?" she demanded.
The attending physician simply stared at her.
Before he could answer, Dr. Morcant spoke.
"Show it to her."
Everyone looked at her.
"She’s a double doctorate holder in Neuroscience and Molecular Biology," Eileen continued quietly. "She researches Alzheimer’s disease. She knows brains."
The doctor hesitated.
"It’s not the same specialty. We know better in this area."
Nevertheless, perhaps because of Eileen’s intervention or perhaps because he saw the absolute determination in Catherine’s eyes, he reluctantly handed her the scans.
Catherine snatched them from his hands.
Her eyes raced over the pages.
Then she froze.
"How could you declare him brain dead?" she demanded, pointing at the tracing. "Look at these bursts. This is brain activity."
The corridor fell silent.
Several family members crowded closer.
The doctor remained composed. "It’s residual activity."
Catherine looked up slowly.
"At this point, you might need an EEG yourself, Doctor."
The way she said doctor made it sound like an insult.
"That is not residual activity," she said, tapping the paper with trembling fingers. "There’s a pattern. There are recurring organized bursts. This isn’t random electrical noise."
Her voice shook.
"And you call that residual?"
She let out a humorless laugh.
"What kind of hospital is this? Can’t we find a proper doctor? Someone who actually completed their education?"
"Catherine Elizabeth Preston." Alexander stepped beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Please be mindful of where you are."
He understood.
God, he understood.
His sister had lost herself to grief.
But if the doctors concluded that Catherine was emotionally unstable, she could lose her status as Maximilian’s healthcare proxy. Right now, they needed Catherine clear-headed, not waging war against every physician in the hospital.
Catherine ignored him.
The argument escalated.
Voices rose.
More physicians arrived.
Eventually, even the hospital director was called.
The doctors stood firmly by their diagnosis, but Catherine refused to back down.
Finally, perhaps to end the confrontation once and for all, they agreed to perform a functional MRI.
The entire family waited.
Minutes stretched into an eternity.
Catherine stood before the observation window, arms wrapped around herself so tightly that her nails dug crescents into her skin.
This would prove it.
It had to.
He promised.
The images began appearing on the screens.
Everyone stared.
Catherine leaned closer.
Nothing.
No activity.
The scan continued.
Still nothing.
The room remained painfully silent.
One of the doctors slowly shook his head.
Another lowered his gaze.
Catherine continued staring at the monitor.
No.
No.
That couldn’t be right.
They must have done something wrong.
There had been activity.
She had seen it.
She knew what she had seen.
The world around her began to blur.
Slowly, as though all the strength had suddenly drained from her body, Catherine sank to her knees.
"This can’t be..." she whispered.
Her voice was so quiet that no one would have heard it had the room not been utterly silent.
"This can’t be."
Because he had promised.
And Maximilian will not break his promises.