Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 155

Chapter 155

Damon pov

Two weeks had passed since the wial concluded, Genevieve’s exile finally, formally resolved, and still we waited – not for council deliberation this time, but for something considerably more agonizing, the transplant evaluation process crawling forward with a slowness that felt almost cruel given how urgently my father’s condition seemed to demand resolution.

I sat beside his bed in the guest room we’d converted back into a recovery space, watching him doze in the late afternoon light, his breathing shallow but steady, the monitoring equipment beeping its quiet, reassuring rhythm.

He looked smaller these days, diminished in ways that went beyond simple physical weight loss-something in the way he held himself now, careful and conserving energy even during his waking hours, that spoke to how genuinely fragile his condition had become since the attack.

“Any word yet,” my mother asked quietly, appearing in the doorway, her voice parrying the same anxious hope it had carried every single day since we’d begun this agonizing wait.

“Nothing new,” I said, watching her expression fall slightly despite her obvious effort to maintain composure. “The healers said the compatibility testing typically takes several weeks, and even once he’s formally listed, actual placement depends entirely on donor availability.”

She nodded, moving to settle into the chair on the opposite side of his bed, and I watched her carefully, noting the same exhausted tension that had been building steadily over these past two weeks-dark circles beneath her eyes, a certain hollowed quality to her expression that spoke to sleepless nights and constant, underlying fear.

She reached out, gently taking my father’s hand where it rested against the blanket, and I watched her simply sit with him for a while, her thumb tracing careful, gentle circles against his skin, her own breathing carrying a slight, telltale unsteadiness that suggested tears weren’t far beneath the surface.

He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open, finding her face immediately. “Sarah.”

“I’m here,” she said softly, managing a small, genuine smile despite her obvious underlying distress.

“You’ve been crying,” he observed, his voice still weak but carrying enough clarity to notice the redness around her eyes despite her attempts to hide it.

“I’m fine,” she said, though the words came out thin, unconvincing even to my own ears.

“Sarah.” His voice carried gentle, patient insistence despite his obvious exhaustion. “Talk to me.”

She was quiet for a long moment, her composure finally cracking slightly, tears beginning to slip free despite her evident effort to maintain strength for his sake. “I’m scared, Robert. Every day this waiting continues, I keep thinking about how much time we might not actually have left, how close we came to losing you already, and I don’t know how to simply sit here calmly, waiting for news that might not arrive quickly enough.”

His hand tightened around hers, though the grip carried noticeably less strength than it once had. “I know,” he said quietly. ” I’m scared too, if I’m honest.”

I sat quietly, watching this exchange, understanding the genuine weight both of them were carrying through this agonizing, uncertain wait, my own exhaustion mounting steadily alongside theirs as each day passed without meaningful update.

“I keep thinking,” my mother continued, her voice breaking slightly, “about everything we’re finally rebuilding. The conversations we’ve been having, the genuine hope I’ve been allowing myself to feel about actual reconciliation. And now I’m terrified that time might simply run out before we ever get the chance to actually see that through properly.”

“We’re not giving up on that,” my father said, his voice carrying quiet, determined resolve despite his obvious physical weakness. “Whatever time we actually have, however long this waiting continues, I intend to keep fighting for exactly what we’re building together.”

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She nodded, though tears continued falling, and I found myself standing quietly, deciding to give them a moment of privacy despite my own reluctance to leave his side even briefly these days.

“I’ll go check on Evelyn and Willow,” Isaid, moving toward the door. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

My mother nodded gratefully, and I made my way toward the living room, finding Evelyn there with Willow, both of them settled comfortably despite the tension that had permeated our entire household these past two weeks:

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