Divorce With Benefits: A Second Chance At Love
Chapter 81: His Condition

Chapter 81: His Condition

Meanwhile, Jerica skidded to a stop outside the emergency room doors and waited to know Jared’s condition.

She waited outside for what felt like hours, clutching her head as the sounds of the bustling hospital staff blurred into a low hum around her. The antiseptic smell mixed with the sharp scent of fear clung to her, making it difficult to breathe.

Every second that passed stretched endlessly, each beat of her heart a painful reminder of Jared’s absence. The din of conversations, hurried footsteps, and the occasional beep of medical machinery were distant echoes; her mind was trapped in a singular loop of worry.

The incident had already been reported, and uniformed police officers were stationed nearby, speaking in clipped tones as they questioned witnesses and examined the aftermath. Their presence was an unsettling reminder that this was more than just an accident.

After what seemed like an eternity, the double doors leading to the emergency ward swung open. Jerica leaped to her feet, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up her cramped legs. Her vision blurred momentarily as she surged forward, desperation lending strength to her weakened limbs.

A nurse, seeing her wavering steps, reached out to steady her, placing firm hands on Jerica’s shoulders to keep her from collapsing.

"How is he?" she asked, the words cracking as they left her dry throat. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, searched the doctor’s face for any trace of reassurance.

The doctor’s expression softened as he took in her disheveled state. He paused for a moment, concern furrowing his brow. "He’s hurt in the chest and has internal bleeding," he said carefully. "Three of his ribs are broken, and he’s suffered a concussion. He has deep lacerations and bruises all over his body, and..."

He hesitated, glancing at her pale face. Jerica’s knees buckled slightly, and the nurse tightened her hold, ready to catch her if she fell.

The doctor exhaled and placed a steadying hand on her other shoulder. "He’s not in critical condition, and he should make a full recovery in a couple of weeks."

The words sunk in slowly, breaking through the icy fear that had gripped her heart. A shudder passed through Jerica’s entire body as the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her in a rush. Relief washed over her, mingling with exhaustion and overwhelming gratitude.

"He’s fine... My Jared is fine..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Before she knew it, she was rushing in. She didn’t hear the nurse asking her to stop and to visit him at the visiting time. She didn’t care. She wanted to look at him.

She entered the room but didn’t have the guts to look at him. He was always the tiger—The Siberian Beast everyone respected and feared. She didn’t have the heart to look at him hurt on a hospital bed.

More importantly, she loved him more than anything. She couldn’t bear to see him like that. But it was love that pushed her forward.

Taking in the tears that formed in her eyes, she walked to the bed. Jared lay motionless, a stark figure amidst the sterile white sheets and the quiet hum of machinery. His face was pale beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, a far cry from the fierce, formidable man she knew.

He was hooked to drips and surrounded by a tangle of tubes, their steady beeping and soft clicks the only sign that life still pulsed within him. His head was wrapped in thick bandages, a testament to the brutal impact, while his chest was bound tightly, restricting even the smallest rise and fall of his breath. The scrapes on his arms were carefully cleaned and treated, but they stood as haunting reminders of the violence he had endured.

His eyes, closed and unmoving, robbed her of the familiar glint of determination that always made her heart skip. He seemed trapped in a world apart, unreachable.

She rushed to his side and fell onto the bed beside him, hugging him carefully. She wanted to squeeze him close to her chest to make sure he was there, but she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t want to hurt him.

Holding back the tears that fought their way down, she placed her hand gently over his hand that had tubes inserted into it. On his left cheek, there was a bandage dressed over a wound. She placed her other hand on his cheek and bent over him to kiss his forehead.

"Thank you for being alive, Mea Amor," she said.

She truly was grateful he was alive. She didn’t care how tough his recovery would be; she would stand by him through each painful step, each long night of sleepless worry. She had already decided to be his shadow, supporting him when he struggled to regain strength and whispering encouragement when the pain felt insurmountable.

She longed for the day his fierce, unyielding spirit would ignite once more, the day the courtroom would once again vibrate with the commanding presence of the Siberian Beast that sent shivers down spines.

She craved the warmth of mornings when he would insist on cooking breakfast just to see her smile, the quiet moments when he would catch her gaze and offer that rare, genuine smile that made her world stand still.

-

The thought of his brown eyes opening, alive with the fire she adored, filled her chest with a bittersweet ache.

Wake up, love...

She sat beside him and waited. She didn’t even want to blink her eyes in case she missed him opening his eyes. She wanted to be there when he opened his eyes.

A few minutes later, a nurse entered and asked Jerica to leave. The nurse was polite and looked understanding of the state Jerica was in.

"Ma’am, I understand how difficult this is, but he needs rest to recover properly. Visiting hours are over, and we have to follow hospital protocols," the nurse said gently.

Jerica’s eyes, bloodshot and fierce, met the nurse’s steady gaze. "I am not leaving until he wakes up," she said, her voice edged with defiance.

The nurse sighed, her professionalism unwavering. "I know you’re worried, and I would be too if I were in your place. But right now, it’s vital for his health that he stays undisturbed. Please, I’m asking you to step outside so he can heal."

Jerica shook her head, her grip on Jared’s hand tightening. "No. You don’t understand. I can’t leave him alone when he’s like this."

The nurse’s expression hardened a fraction. "Ma’am, if you don’t comply, I’ll have to inform the head of security. I don’t want to do that, but we have to maintain order."

Jerica couldn’t bear it any longer. "I’ll build a children’s wing in this hospital, if that’s what it takes. I am Jerica f*cking Evans, and I’ll pay for it! I don’t want your face anywhere near me. Go bring your chairman. I’ll only talk to him."

The nurse’s eyes widened at the sudden outburst, and she quickly stepped out to report the situation. A doctor came in moments later, trying to reason with Jerica, but she sent him away with an icy glare. Soon after, the head of security appeared.

"Ms. Evans, I’m afraid we cannot make an exception for you. It wouldn’t be fair to others. If you do not leave willingly, we will have to remove you," he said, voice firm but not unkind.

"You can send me out," Jerica said, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "But when I return, make sure you put me in the same room as my husband if I’m not sent to the mortuary first."

Jerica was barely aware of her actions, as though her body had been seized by some feral, unrelenting force. She never argued, never raised her voice, and certainly never used such language; it was as if a dam had broken inside her, releasing a torrent of raw, primal emotion. Seeing Jared vulnerable had shattered the fortress of self-control she’d painstakingly built over years. Her sense of propriety, her gentleness—those fragile emblems of who she was—crumbled into dust and were scattered by a storm of grief and defiance. She felt herself becoming someone unrecognizable, driven by a desperation so fierce it left her trembling with both rage and fear.

A doctor nearby muttered, "Send her to the psych ward. Prepare the sedation."

Jerica’s eyes widened, and her heart pounded. "You cannot take me out of this room," she said, a wild, protective gleam in her eyes.

If she left, who would guard him? The thought twisted in her gut like a knife. She couldn’t trust the police, whose impartial eyes often overlooked the shadows where true threats lurked. Nor could she rely on the doctors, whose concern ended at a pulse and a chart. The Braddock and Glover families, with their insidious power, reached into the darkest corners of the city, weaving influence like a spider’s web. To leave Jared alone would be to surrender him to those dangers. It wasn’t just about his survival; it was about her own. The very core of her being revolved around this fierce duty. Without him, she was a hollow vessel; protecting him was the only thing that kept her standing amidst the chaos.

The situation escalated as Jerica’s protests grew louder. Security moved in cautiously, weighing the gravity of forcibly removing the desperate woman from her husband’s side.

Just then, she felt a weak grab on her wrist.