Chapter 602

Penelope went to wash her hands first, then headed to the doctor’s office.
She came out fifteen minutes later and slumped onto a bench in the hallway, feeling utterly defeated. The doctor had been brutally honest about Donald’s condition. Due to the severity of his head trauma, the chances of him ever regaining consciousness were slim.
To even maintain his current state, he would likely need multiple surgeries, each carrying significant risks. The family needed to be prepared for the worst.
“Does he have any awareness? Can he feel pain?”
“If the patient is in a minimally conscious state, it’s possible he retains some level of awareness and can perceive pain. They are essentially trapped inside a body they can’t control, able to feel pain, cold, and discomfort without any way to express it.”
If he had awareness and could feel pain, then…
Penelope lowered her head heavily. Her insistence might be nothing but cruelty to Donald.
Judy had fainted from crying and Yvonne had taken her to another room. Jonas and the rest of his family had gone home, leaving Jonas to stay by the bedside. But when he saw Penelope enter, he thoughtfully gave them some time alone.
Penelope sat down by the bed and looked at Donald, lying there so still, so motionless. The tears finally fell.
She reached out and took his hand. It was still warm. How could she bear to let him go?
“Can you hear me?”
“You probably can’t.”
“If you can, open your eyes, or squeeze my hand, or
Penelope trailed off, shaking her head. “But if you are conscious, it must be even more painful. Am I really being selfish by insisting? But… you haven’t heard me call you ‘Dad’ yet.”
Penelope clung to Donald’s hand, the sobs she’d been holding back finally breaking free.
She was filled with regret. She should have acknowledged him sooner, should have bridged the gap between them long ago.
“Dad, please wake up. I don’t want to lose another parent.”
Just then, she felt a slight pressure as Donald’s hand seemed to squeeze hers.
Startled, she looked up, but his eyes remained closed, and his hand was limp again, just as it had been before. Was it her imagination?
A nurse came in just then, and Penelope quickly told her what had happened.
The nurse performed a brief check and suggested it was likely an involuntary muscle spasm.
“Mr. Bishop was brought into the operating room that afternoon and was in surgery for over ten hours. His heart stopped several times. The doctors truly pulled him back from death’s door.”
“I’m actually a huge fan of Mr. Bishop’s work. I’ve seen every show he’s been in. It’s just so sad.”
Because she was a fan, the nurse shared a few more details with Penelope.
From her words, Penelope caught something that didn’t add up.
“You said he was brought in that afternoon?” Penelope looked up at her.
The nurse nodded. “That’s right.”
“It was afternoon, not evening?”
The nursedooked certain. “I
Vl
remember it clearly. I was just finishing my shift when I heard Mr.
Bishop had been rushed to the ER. It was around five o’clock
Penelope frowned. That wasn’t right.
That day, she had waited for Donald
at the square
until it was dark. When
he didn’t show, she went to the film set, then returned to the square and waited even longer. It must have been nine or ter at night by then And that was when Donald had texted her, saying something urgent had come up and he was going home.
If the nurse was right and Donald had been in an accident that afternoon, then who
sent her that text message at night?