If she hadn’t said those words, Jamison might have managed to hold it together, at least on the surface.

But the moment she spoke, the old saying about “real men don’t cry” meant nothing. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, his heart twisting and trembling as a wave of helpless grief crashed over him.

Ivy watched his tears slide down his face, mustering up a small smile. “Hey, what are you crying for…?”

She tried to raise her hand to wipe his face, but her body refused to move, so she managed a teasing quip instead: “Look at you–big, strong man, shedding tears in front of everyone…”

“Ivy…” Jamison clung to her hand, wanting desperately to lean down and kiss her, but he held himself back. There was blood on her face–she’d been cleaned up, but traces of the virus might remain. He loved his wife with all he had. But as a doctor, he couldn’t let emotion override his reason. For the next six months, he couldn’t allow himself to get too close to Ivy, not until all the tests came back clear and it was certain the virus was gone–the threat wouldn’t pass until then.

So he just lowered his head and whispered her name, over and over, soft and aching. “Ivy… Ivy…”

Ivy turned her gaze away, coughing weakly as she tried to comfort him. “Don’t cry… You might not care about looking foolish, but I’m embarrassed for you…”

Jamison nodded solemnly. “Alright. Whatever you say.”

With police cars clearing the way, what should have been a half-hour drive was over in ten minutes. The hospital was ready for them. Ivy was rushed straight to surgery for an emergency splenectomy.

Technically, thoracic and abdominal trauma was Jamison’s specialty. But because they were husband and wife–and because everyone at the hospital knew just how much he adored her—they’d assigned another surgeon. No one wanted his judgment clouded by worry. Jamison trusted his colleague’s skill. Now, all he could do was wait.

Word spread quickly. Even though Jamison wasn’t answering his phone, Katrina Lester, Boyd, Naylor Wilson, and others arrived at the hospital as fast as they could. Even Baillie showed up.

“How’s Ivy? Is it bad?” Katrina called out the moment she saw Jamison, her voice tight with worry.

By now, Jamison had gotten himself mostly under control. He gave them a quick rundown of Ivy’s condition.

“It’s a miracle she’s alive! I saw the fall online–I thought my heart was going to stop! Emma is insane, a complete monster. She deserves to rot in hell!” Katrina couldn’t hold back her outrage, cursing Emma as if she could hear her.

Naylor gave her a look, resting a calming hand on her shoulder. She shot him a glance, then finally fell silent.

Baillie spoke up, “What about Emma? She lost the baby and her uterus barely three, four days ago, and now she’s fallen from that height…”

Before he could finish, Katrina whirled on him. “Why, are you worried about Emma now? Weren’t you the one who caused her to lose the baby and her uterus? Feeling sorry for her, are we? Spare me the crocodile tears.”

Jamison’s voice was cold. “I don’t know.” Since the accident, Ivy was all he could think about. He had no energy left to care about Emma. But from what he’d heard, Emma had bled out right there at the scene. Chances were, she wouldn’t make it. And even if she did, her future would be spent behind bars.

Jamison felt a fresh wave of anger for his wife. Seeing Baillie here, still preoccupied with Emma, he didn’t bother hiding his impatience. “Mr. Windsor, Ivy is the one lying in that room. Did you come to the wrong place?”

The implication was clear: if you want to check on Emma, go somewhere else.

Baillie’s face reddened. “I’m here for Ivy. I just asked about Emma out of habit. Frankly, I hope she’s dead and gone.”

At that, the tension in the room eased–if only slightly.

Inside the emergency room, Ivy’s spleen had ruptured badly, and her organs were starting to stick together. The internal bleeding was severe. The surgery dragged on for nearly three hours. Everyone waiting outside felt like they were living in their own private hell.

Finally, the lights above the operating room flicked off. The knot in every stomach began to loosen. The surgeon came out first, and Jamison rushed to meet him.

“Professor Ludwig, the operation went very well,” the doctor reported. “But she lost a lot of blood. She’ll need plenty of rest and careful monitoring.” He went over the key details with Jamison.

Meanwhile, Ivy was wheeled out. The anesthesia and blood loss left her dazed, somewhere between sleep and waking, barely aware of her surroundings. Katrina, seeing her best friend so pale and frail, couldn’t hold back her own tears.