Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 189 - 189 - Healing Hands, Whispers of Flight

"Liam Knight?" Maxim Huxley's face lit up with recognition. He scrambled to retrieve his fallen clipboard, nearly tripping in his excitement. "Dr. Pierce, this is the medical genius I've been telling you about for months!"

Dr. Pierce's expression soured further. "This is your miracle worker? The one who allegedly cured that terminal cancer patient in Havenwood?"

I studied Maxim with mild interest. His enthusiasm seemed genuine, though I couldn't place where we'd met before.

"Not allegedly," Maxim insisted, moving closer. "I reviewed those case files myself. Stage four pancreatic cancer disappeared completely after his treatment. The patient is still alive three years later!"

Kathleen shot me a satisfied look. "As I've been trying to tell you, Doctor."

"We met at the Eastern Medical Conference last year," Maxim explained to me. "I was in the audience when you presented that controversial paper on cellular regeneration. Everyone dismissed it, but I've been following your work ever since."

The memory clicked into place. I had given a brief presentation that had been met with mockery and dismissal from the medical establishment. This young doctor had been one of the few who'd approached me afterward with genuine questions.

"I remember," I said simply.

Dr. Pierce cleared his throat loudly. "Enthusiasm is no substitute for medical credibility, Maxim. Mr. Knight has no formal qualifications that I'm aware of."

"With respect, Doctor," Maxim countered, "Mr. Knight has successfully treated conditions that have baffled the international medical community. If there's even a chance he could help Mr. Harding—"

"Enough!" Dr. Pierce's face had turned an alarming shade of red. "This is absurd. ALS is not some common cold to be cured by folk remedies and pseudoscience."

I decided it was time to speak. "Dr. Pierce, I understand your skepticism. But perhaps we could focus on what matters most—your patient's well-being?"

Before Pierce could respond, a weak voice called from beyond a partially open door at the far end of the room.

"Let him in, Pierce. I want to hear what he has to say."

The voice belonged to Nikhil Harding. Despite his illness, it carried authority that even Dr. Pierce couldn't ignore.

With visible reluctance, Pierce stepped aside. "Very well. But I'll be documenting everything for the medical board."

I nodded and followed Kathleen into the adjoining room. The space was dominated by a hospital-style bed where Nikhil Harding lay propped up against several pillows. Medical monitors beeped quietly around him, tracking his vital signs.

Despite his illness, I could see immediately where Kathleen had gotten her commanding presence. Even confined to bed, Nikhil Harding had the alert eyes of a predator—sharp, calculating, missing nothing.

"So you're the miracle worker my daughter has pinned her hopes on," he said, his speech slightly slurred from the disease's progression.

"I make no claims of miracles, Mr. Harding," I replied, approaching his bedside. "May I examine you?"

He nodded, and I began my assessment immediately. I checked his pupillary response first, then tested the strength in his limbs, noting the asymmetrical weakness that characterized ALS.

"The disease progression is advanced but not irreversible," I said after completing my examination. "Your nervous system is degrading rapidly, but the core neural pathways are still intact."

Dr. Pierce scoffed. "That's your diagnosis? Any first-year medical student could tell you that much."

I ignored him and continued addressing Nikhil directly. "There are two stages to the treatment I'm proposing. First, we need to stabilize your condition with what I call an Impulse Protection Pill. This will prevent further neural degradation and restore some basic motor functions."

"And the second stage?" Kathleen asked, hope evident in her voice.

"A more complex medication I call the Vitality Pill. It will repair the damage that's already been done, regenerating the affected neural pathways. The full treatment will take approximately six months."

Dr. Pierce laughed derisively. "Pills? That's your solution? Mr. Harding has been seen by the top neurologists in the world. There is no pill that can cure ALS."

"Perhaps not in your pharmacology," I replied calmly. "But I work with compounds that modern medicine hasn't properly cataloged yet."

Nikhil Harding studied me intensely. "How soon can you begin?"

"I'll need to refine the first medication to match your specific condition. I can have it ready within three days if I have access to a properly equipped laboratory."

"We have a state-of-the-art lab in the east wing," Maxim offered eagerly. "I'd be honored to assist you."

Nikhil turned his gaze to Dr. Pierce. "Make it happen, Doctor."

The older physician's face contorted with fury. "This is completely unethical! You're putting your life in the hands of an unqualified—"

"My life," Nikhil interrupted, his voice suddenly powerful despite his weakened state, "is already slipping away under your 'qualified' care, Pierce. I'm trying something new. That's my decision."

Dr. Pierce stormed out of the room, muttering about medical malpractice. Maxim looked torn between following his mentor and staying with us, ultimately choosing to remain.

"I'll show you to the lab whenever you're ready, Mr. Knight," he said.

"Thank you, Dr. Huxley." I turned back to Nikhil. "I'll need to work undisturbed. The process requires complete concentration."

Nikhil nodded. "You'll have everything you need. Kathleen will make sure of it."

For the next three days, I secluded myself in the laboratory, working tirelessly on the specialized medication. I saw no one except Maxim, who brought meals and assisted when needed. Even Kathleen respected my request for privacy, though she sent regular messages through Maxim checking on my progress.

While I worked, however, trouble was brewing elsewhere.

---

"Have you heard? Liam Knight has fled the country," Julian Reeves announced to the gathered executives at Sterling Pharmaceuticals.

"Fled? Why would he do that?" asked one board member.

Julian smiled smugly. "Word is that the head of the Thornton family is emerging from seclusion. Knight knows he's no match for him and has run to save his skin."

The news spread like wildfire, reaching families across Havenwood and eventually Veridia City. My Virtual Library Empire (*) hosts the original.

At the Northwood estate, the revelation sparked a heated debate over dinner.

"I told you he was nothing but a coward," Silas Northwood declared, slamming his fist on the table. "All that supposed power, and he runs at the first sign of real trouble."

Alistair Northwood shook his head. "I don't believe it. Liam Knight isn't someone who runs from fights. There must be another explanation."

"Don't be naive, brother," Silas sneered. "Your so-called friend has abandoned everyone who supported him. That's the man you pledged your loyalty to."

"That doesn't sound like Liam," Alistair insisted. "I've seen him face enemies far more terrifying than any Thornton."

Across the city in other influential households, similar conversations took place. Some gloated over Liam's apparent cowardice, while others defended his character. The rumors continued to spread, growing more elaborate with each retelling.

---

In Veridia City, Isabelle Ashworth sat in her garden, reviewing business documents when her assistant approached with the news.

"Miss, have you heard? There are reports that Liam Knight has fled the country to escape the Thornton family."

Isabelle's expression didn't change as she continued reading the document in her hand. "Is that so?"

"Yes, it's all over the business circles. They say he left on a private jet three days ago and hasn't been seen since."

Finally, Isabelle looked up, her eyes clear and certain. "He hasn't fled."

"But the reports—"

"Are false," she stated firmly. "Liam Knight isn't a man who runs from his enemies. If he's not visible, there's a reason for it, and that reason isn't fear."

The assistant nodded uncertainly. "Of course, Miss. I'll leave you to your work."

After the assistant departed, Michael Ashworth emerged from behind a flowering tree, having overheard the conversation.

"Your faith in him is quite remarkable," the elderly man observed, taking a seat beside his granddaughter.

"It's not faith, Grandfather. It's knowledge." Isabelle set aside her papers. "I know who he is."

Michael smiled gently. "Your certainty reminds me of something his father once told me."

"His father?" Isabelle looked up with interest. "You've never mentioned knowing Liam's father before."

"There are many things I haven't mentioned," Michael replied mysteriously. "But yes, I knew him well. He was a remarkable man—much like his son."

"What did he tell you?"

Michael's eyes took on a distant quality. "He said that someday his son would cross paths with my granddaughter, and when that happened, it would be a match made in heaven. Fate working its mysterious ways."

Isabelle was silent for a long moment, absorbing this revelation.

Michael looked up at the sky, his weathered face thoughtful. "He was never wrong about such things. Never once."

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the garden, Michael Ashworth whispered, almost to himself, "You are never wrong."