Doctor Love

Chapter 27

DAVID’S POV

The knock on my door sounds like a distant echo through the fog of my thoughts. I've been staring at my phone for so long the screen has gone dark seventeen times. Seventeen times I've tapped it back to life, hoping to see her name. Seventeen times I've been disappointed.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

"David? Are you in there?" Dad's voice.

I drag myself off the bed and shuffle to the door, pulling it open without bothering to check how I look. I already know the answer: like hell.

"You're still indoor?" Dad asks, eyebrows raised as he takes in my rumpled t-shirt and the dark circles under my eyes.

"Yeah." The word comes out rough, unused.

"Come out, there's a family picnic..."

I shake my head immediately. "Dad, I'm not in the mood."

His expression hardens, and he points at me with a look I've known since childhood. "Right this minute."

The tone leaves no room for argument. I grab my phone and step out, surrendering to whatever social torture awaits. As we walk down the hallway, I feel his hand on my shoulder, a gentle squeeze.

"I left work just to have this picnic with you all and most importantly, to help you cheer up. Kate will be fine, okay? But in the meantime, cheer up."

The dam inside me threatens to break at the mention of her name. "Dad, I love her but she just doesn't see it."

"Not every woman can be like your mother, David." Mom's voice floats in from behind us as she approaches with a knowing smile. "This man bullied me to love him. Not every woman appreciates that."

Dad laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What did you just say?"

They share a private joke, leaning into each other with the comfortable intimacy of decades together. I look away, the sight too painful against the rawness of my own heart.

Yes, I had bullied Kate. I'd done it because she terrified me with her competence, her beauty, her absolute refusal to bend. I enjoyed teasing her, challenging her, getting under her skin because it was the only way she'd look at me with those fierce eyes. I never expected to fall so hard in the process. Now I'm paying the price.

"I'll be outside," I mutter, leaving my parents to their romance.

The garden is surprisingly crowded. Faces I haven't seen in months mill about, distant cousins and family friends setting up tables and laying out food. I nod vaguely in response to greetings, finding a solitary bench beneath an old oak tree where I can continue my vigil over my silent phone.

10:23 AM. Her procedure started twenty-three minutes ago.

Mr. Mason promised he'd call as soon as there was news since I couldn’t go with him. Kate didn’t want me to.

"I don't need your pity, David," she'd said, voice cold despite the tears shimmering in her eyes. "Not now. Not ever."

"It's not pity," I'd protested, desperate for her to understand. "Kate, please—"

"No." Final, resolute. "If something happens to me, I don't want your face to be the last thing I see."

The words had sliced through me like a blade. I'd made her hate me so thoroughly that even facing death, she couldn't stand my presence.

Dad had stopped me from going anyway. "That would be her final wish," he'd said gravely. "You have to respect that."

So instead, I'm here, checking my phone every thirty seconds while relatives I barely remember laugh and chat around me. The contrast between their joy and my terror feels almost obscene.

10:37 AM. The operation should be well underway. Is she still under anesthesia? Has the surgeon found the tumor? Is it worse than they thought?

I close my eyes, trying to push away the parade of horrific scenarios marching through my mind. What if she never wakes up? What if she wakes up changed? What if the last words we ever exchange are ones of anger?

A clap jolts me from my spiraling thoughts, followed by voices raised in song.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

My eyes snap open to see a small crowd gathered before me, Dad holding a cake alight with candles, Mom beaming beside him. Everyone clapping, everyone singing.

"Happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to you, David Villa!"

The realization hits like a bucket of ice water. Today is my birthday. May 5th. How could I have forgotten? More importantly, how could Kate's surgery have been scheduled on today of all days?

Dad steps forward, embracing me tightly. "Twenty-four years ago today, you made me the proudest man alive," he whispers. "And you've made me prouder every day since."

I want to melt into his embrace, to be a child again with simple problems and easy solutions. But all I can think about is Kate lying on an operating table across town, fighting for her life while I'm surrounded by birthday cake and well-wishers.

"Make a wish, son," Mom says, gesturing to the flickering candles.

I close my eyes again. There's only one wish in my heart.

Please let her live. Please let her forgive me. Please give me another chance to show her who I really am.

I blow out the candles with a half-hearted puff, forcing a smile as everyone applauds. The moment the attention shifts and people begin serving themselves cake, I slip away, heading toward the second garden where the stone paths wind through high hedges. A natural maze where I can hide my fear.

The phone in my hand remains stubbornly silent. 11:06 AM. The procedure should be an hour in. Why hasn't Mr. Mason called? Is that good news or catastrophic?

"You look like you got your heart broken into shreds."

The voice startles me. I turn to find a young woman with copper hair watching me from beside a rose bush. Her face is unfamiliar, which is a relief. No need to pretend with strangers.

She approaches with the confident stride of someone who's never been told no, extending her hand. "Hi, I'm Genevieve, your cousin Debby's best friend."

I stare at her outstretched hand without taking it, too numb to observe social niceties. Her smile falters.

"Did you truly get your heart broken?" She tilts her head, studying me with unexpected perception.

The question strips away my last defenses. The fear I've been fighting all morning crashes over me in an unstoppable wave. My vision blurs as tears fill my eyes, and before I can stop myself, I'm crying like I haven't since I was a child, deep, gut-wrenching sobs that bend me double.

"She might die," I choke out between gasps for air. "She might die thinking I hated her."