Unwritten Fate [BL]
Chapter 146: In Recovery

Chapter 146: In Recovery

The hallway stretched ahead, long and sterile, the lights above humming gently.

Billy lay on the moving bed, covered in a pale blue sheet, his arms resting still at his sides.

The soft wheels rolled quietly beneath him, guided by the nurse who offered a reassuring smile every few feet.

But Billy wasn’t looking at the ceiling anymore. He wasn’t looking at anything, really.

He was inward.

It’s just surgery. People do this every day. They say it might help. That I could remember more. Or not. What if I forget again? What if it works, but I lose what I found in the village?

The rhythm of the cart’s motion was oddly calming, like being rocked by invisible waves.

He blinked slowly.

Artur’s face flashed across his thoughts — not with clarity, but with emotion.

The sound of his laughter. The feel of his arm curled behind Billy’s back beneath the moonlight.

The way he looked the night before Billy left — like the ground had cracked open beneath him.

Please... just don’t let me lose that. Even if I forget... let me remember how it felt.

They reached a quiet door. The nurse pushed it open with her foot and guided him inside.

Operating Room – 8:26 A.M.

It was cool.

The light was soft but focused. Machines beeped gently in the background.

Two nurses were already there, prepping quietly. The anesthesiologist approached with kind eyes and a steady voice.

"Hello, Leon. We’re going to begin soon. Just a little pinch for the IV. I’ll be here the whole time."

Billy nodded, silent.

A mask was held close to his face — not forced, just offered gently.

"You may feel a little lightheaded. Just breathe normally."

As the seconds passed, the edges of the room began to blur.

Artur... Please don’t forget me either.

Darkness came soft — not like falling, but floating.

Camila sat stiffly, one leg bouncing. Her fingers fidgeted with a bracelet on her wrist — back and forth, like ticking minutes.

Mrs. Sandoval sat beside her, holding her phone in one hand, a thermos in the other. Her calm exterior barely masked the storm behind her eyes.

Her phone vibrated again.

CALL: MR. SANDOVAL

She silenced it without answering.

Camila glanced at her. "That’s the fourth time."

Her mother nodded. "If it’s important, he’ll leave a message."

Vibration. Again.

Mrs. Sandoval sighed, stood up, and walked toward the far window to answer. Her voice was quiet, clipped, professional.

Camila leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

The hallway stayed still — soft footfalls, distant intercom chimes, and that one unshakable silence that clings to surgical waiting rooms.

And beyond the double doors, her brother was under, still and silent — his mind resting on the edge of memory and something deeper.

Camila sat hunched forward now, elbows on her knees, staring down at her phone — not reading, not scrolling. Just holding it.

The stillness thickened.

"Do you think he’s scared?" she asked suddenly, voice low.

Mrs. Sandoval looked up from the window where she’d been standing, the light catching faint lines beneath her eyes.

"Yes," she said honestly. "But he didn’t let it stop him."

Camila nodded, lips pressed together. "He’s braver than he looks."

Her mother smiled faintly. "He always was. Even as a kid. Stubborn, but... gentle."

Camila leaned back again. "He never really liked being the center of attention. Not like people think."

"He did it for your father," her mother said, sinking back into the chair beside her. "That whole actor dream... wasn’t his. It was just something he did well. Something that made his father proud."

Camila looked at her. "Do you think he’ll go back to it?"

Mrs. Sandoval was quiet for a moment.

"I don’t know," she said honestly. "Maybe he’ll choose something else. Something that’s truly his this time."

A beat.

Camila’s fingers drummed lightly on the armrest.

"I think he wants that," she murmured. "To choose something... or someone... for himself."

Her mother glanced sideways at her.

"You mean that boy? The one from the village?"

Camila hesitated, then nodded. "He doesn’t talk about him much. But I’ve seen the way his voice changes when he does."

Mrs. Sandoval didn’t react outwardly. She simply turned her gaze forward, thoughtful.

"If it made him happy..." she said at last, softly, "then I’m not going to stand in the way of that. Not again."

Camila looked over at her, surprised by the quiet resolve in her mother’s voice.

"Thanks, Mom," she said gently.

Mrs. Sandoval smiled faintly. "Just remind me to uninvite your father from Thanksgiving this year."

They both let out a small laugh — quiet, but real.

The waiting continued. The world didn’t change much. But for just a moment, the silence felt less heavy. Because they weren’t waiting alone.

The hallway buzzed faintly with quiet movement — a nurse passing, the far-off echo of a gurney wheel, the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Camila sat now with her head resting against the wall, eyes half-lidded but alert.

Mrs. Sandoval had gone still, hands folded tightly in her lap, fingers interlocked as if in silent prayer.

Then — the soft click of polished shoes across the tiled floor.

Camila’s eyes opened. She looked up first.

Their father, Mr. Sandoval, stood just beyond the corner. Crisp navy suit. Tie still neat. His jaw set.

He didn’t speak right away.

Neither did they.

Mrs. Sandoval slowly stood, facing him without surprise. Her voice remained calm.

"You’re here."

Mr. Sandoval nodded. "My son is in surgery. I had a right to be."

Camila straightened in her seat, eyes flickering between them.

"It’s almost done," she offered, trying to break the frost. "They said it wouldn’t take long."

Mr. Sandoval gave her a curt nod. Then looked toward the double doors at the end of the corridor — the ones Billy had disappeared behind earlier.

As he looked at the doors, something flickered—an image of Billy at age ten, sitting in his lap, reciting lines with too much heart for a boy so small.

"How is he?"

Mrs. Sandoval folded her arms. "Braver than you give him credit for."

"That wasn’t what I asked."

"No," she said, "but it’s the answer you needed."

A long beat passed.

Mr. Sandoval sighed, his shoulders tight but not defensive. He looked... older this morning. Not tired — but worn in the way people are when they finally realize something slipped through their fingers a long time ago.

"I want what’s best for him," he said, quieter now. "Even if he doesn’t see it yet."

Camila finally stood.

"He’s not a soldier, Dad. He’s not here to follow orders."

Mr. Sandoval met her gaze — no anger, just that stern kind of pride that never quite softened into love the right way.

But something in his stance changed.

He looked away.

Mrs. Sandoval took a step closer to him, gentler now.

"He’ll need us. All of us. And not just the version of us we’ve been. But something new."

Mr. Sandoval didn’t answer.

He just nodded — once.

And they all went quiet again, staring at the doors that hadn’t opened yet.

Still waiting.

But now, waiting together.

Time blurred. The clock hands ticked with slow, deliberate motion.

The hallway remained still.

Camila paced a little now, her steps soft across the linoleum floor. Her phone rested forgotten on the chair. Her mother sat again, spine straight, eyes fixed ahead.

Mr. Sandoval stood with one hand in his pocket, the other tapping his thigh — a rhythmless, nervous habit he hadn’t had in years.

Then — the doors swung open.

Dr. Harris stepped out, his surgical cap still on, the mask pulled down around his neck.

They all rose in sync — a kind of involuntary motion, like breath catching in unison.

Dr. Harris approached calmly.

"The surgery went well," he said, voice professional but kind. "He’s in recovery now. Still under sedation, but stable."

Camila let out a sharp breath, one hand coming to her chest.

"No complications?" Mrs. Sandoval asked.

Dr. Harris shook his head. "None. Everything went smoothly. We’ll monitor him closely tonight. He may be groggy for a while, possibly emotional. But overall, this is the result we hoped for."

Mr. Sandoval finally exhaled. It was faint — just a shift of his shoulders — but it was there.

"When can we see him?" Camila asked.

"He’ll be moved to a room shortly. One visitor at a time at first. I’ll have a nurse come fetch you."

He gave a reassuring nod before turning back through the doors.

Silence again, but this time... lighter.

Camila turned to her mother, her voice small but shaky.

"He’s okay."

Mrs. Sandoval nodded. "Yes. He is."

Mr. Sandoval looked toward the doors, then sat down — like a man unspooling tension he hadn’t admitted he was carrying.

And for the first time that day... they smiled. Just a little.

The room was quiet.

Dim morning light seeped through the blinds, casting soft lines across the blanket pulled over Billy’s chest.

A monitor beeped steadily beside him — calm, consistent.

The oxygen line rested beneath his nose, his lips slightly parted in sleep.

His face was pale, but peaceful.

A nurse adjusted the IV line gently, then stepped back and whispered to Camila, who stood in the doorway.

"He’s starting to come around. Sit with him if you’d like—just keep it gentle. Let his body catch up."

Camila nodded, heart trembling in her chest.

She stepped inside, slow like walking into a church.

One chair stood beside the bed — she took it.

For a moment, she just sat there in silence, watching him breathe.

His left arm was resting outside the blanket, loosely curled. The faintest outline of the fresh tattoo could be seen just beneath the short sleeve of his gown.

She looked at it. Her throat tightened.

"You kept him close," she whispered, more to herself than him.

Billy stirred slightly. His brow twitched, but he didn’t wake.

Camila reached out, gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

"You did it," she said softly. "It’s over now. Just rest, okay?"

She leaned back, wiping the corner of her eye before it welled too far.

The door opened softly behind her.

Mrs. Sandoval stepped inside, heels quiet, eyes heavy but relieved.

"Is he...?"

"Still sleeping," Camila said. "But peaceful."

They both looked at him for a while. No one rushed to speak.

Billy exhaled gently — a small movement, but the kind that made them both lean closer.

Mrs. Sandoval reached forward and touched his hand.

"We’re right here," she murmured. "Take all the time you need, sweetheart."

Billy didn’t respond.

But then, his fingers moved — the faintest squeeze.

And for Camila and her mother, it was more than enough.