The words felt like a physical blow. “I’m sorry, she has leukemia,” the doctor said, his voice tinged with sorrow, his eyes filled with helplessness. The room seemed to shrink around Trina, the sterile white walls closing in on her. A shudder ran through her body as the gravity of his words sank deep into her heart. Her breath hitched in her chest, as if her lungs had stopped working. Everything else, the faint hum of the machines, the soft murmur of voices outside the door—everything became a distant hum, drowned out by the heavy silence that descended.

The world blurred as her mind scrambled to process. Michael was there, instantly, his arms wrapping around her with a protective fierceness. He was her anchor, holding her together when it felt like she might fall apart. Trina buried her face in his chest, her body wracked with sobs, her heart breaking as she clung to him, desperate for some semblance of stability in the chaos. His shirt grew damp under the weight of her tears, and though Michael’s own heart was breaking, he held her tighter, unwilling to let go.

After what felt like an eternity, Michael gently helped her sit down on a nearby chair, her legs no longer able to support her. Her head was spinning, and all she could do was stare blankly ahead, trying to grasp onto anything that made sense. She felt detached from herself, as though her body was no longer her own.

"Take a rest," Michael urged softly, though his voice held the edge of desperation. "I’ll check on Tamara."

Trina nodded, mechanically, unable to process what he said. Her mind was numb, lost in the haze of her grief. She opened her mouth to speak but found her voice lodged in her throat. "Can it be cured?" she managed to force out, each word like a stone in her chest. The thought of losing Tamara, her little girl, was too much to bear.

The doctor, who had been watching her with quiet sympathy, nodded solemnly. “It can be cured, but it’s not simple. There’s a risk. The sooner we act, the better. We’ll need to do a bone marrow match immediately.”

Trina’s hand fell limp into her lap, as if the words had drained the very strength from her. Her shoulders sagged, the weight of the news pressing down on her like an anvil. She closed her eyes, her mind whirling with a thousand unanswered questions.

“Alright. I understand,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she even believed the words.

The doctor let out a long, sad sigh. "Trina, please try to calm yourself. When you're ready, come and see me. We’ll figure out the next steps." His words, though kind, felt hollow. They did nothing to ease the knot of fear and despair tightening around her chest.

As the doctor left, the empty hallway stretched out before her, cold and impersonal. Trina sank deeper into the chair, her hands trembling as she wiped at her eyes, only for the tears to come faster, overwhelming her once again. She pressed her palms against her face, desperately trying to suppress the anguish inside her. "Why is this happening?" she whispered through clenched teeth, her voice a broken rasp. "Why her? Why Tamara?"

The sterile scent of the hospital hung in the air, suffocating her. Everything felt unreal, like she was floating outside of her own body, watching the nightmare unfold from a distance. But she wasn’t floating—she was trapped in it. Trina’s entire life had just shattered into pieces. Her mind, a swirl of confusion, clung to the one thing that still made sense: Tamara. She had to save her. She would save her.

Then, Michael’s voice broke through her haze, and she looked up, startled. He had returned, his expression tight with barely contained emotion, his eyes flickering with unspoken pain. The sight of him—so steady, yet clearly on the edge of breaking—only made her feel more alone.

He stepped toward her, offering her a pack of tissues with a quiet, steady hand. “We will fight together through this,” he murmured, his voice strained. "Tamara’s my daughter, too. I’ll do whatever it takes."

Trina accepted the tissues, her fingers trembling as she wiped away the tears, though it felt like nothing could stop them. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest at his words. His daughter, too. But the thought brought her no comfort, only a deepening confusion. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, suffocating her.

Michael paused for a moment, his gaze sharpening. "Trina, there’s something else you need to know. I checked Tamara’s medical records. There’s more going on than just leukemia."

Trina froze, her eyes locking onto his. Her heart skipped a beat, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. "What do you mean?" Her voice, so soft and fragile, trembled with the weight of fear she couldn’t shake.

Michael’s jaw tightened as he let the words slip out, each one a punch to her gut. "Tamara has another virus in her system. Someone injected her with a tumor virus."

Trina’s breath caught in her throat. "What?" The word escaped as a hoarse whisper, barely audible. "What are you saying? How? How could she have been poisoned?"

"The C-type RNA tumor virus," Michael explained, his voice cold and firm now, each word heavy with the weight of his certainty. "It’s a virus that can insert itself into a person’s DNA and cause leukemia. Someone poisoned her, Trina. This wasn’t random. It was deliberate."

Trina’s entire body went rigid, the shock of his words hitting her like a thunderclap. Her mind reeled, her heart struggling to beat through the shock. "No. No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "This can’t be true." Her thoughts scattered, unable to form any coherent response. Tamara had always been safe, always by her side. Who would do such a thing?

But then a young nurse entered the hallway, handing Trina a medical report. Trina’s hands shook as she took it, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew what was coming, but still, the words on the page shattered her. "T-cell leukemia, possibly caused by tumor virus."

Her body swayed, her breath faltering as the truth settled over her like a dark cloud. Michael was right. Tamara had been poisoned.

A gut-wrenching sob tore through her as her knees threatened to buckle. She couldn’t breathe. "How could anyone do this? She’s just a baby, just four years old!" Trina cried, her voice raw with disbelief and anguish.

Her phone suddenly rang, jerking her back into the moment. She glanced down at the caller ID, and her stomach churned. Jamie. His name burned in her chest like a brand. The man who had been a thorn in her side for years, the man who’d manipulated her family, forced her into an engagement she didn’t want. The man whose presence seemed to follow her everywhere, twisting every situation into his own design. And now, in the wake of her daughter’s diagnosis, here he was again.

Trina clenched her jaw as she answered the call. "What is it, Jamie?" she said, her voice ice-cold. Every fiber of her being wanted to lash out at him, but she held back, trying to focus on what was important.

"I’ve been waiting for you," Jamie’s voice oozed with impatience, as if his inconvenience was the most pressing matter. "Are you going to try on your wedding dress or what?"

Trina felt a wave of disgust wash over her. "I don’t have time for this. My daughter is sick. You handle the banquet. I’m done." Her words were sharp, final.

But Jamie’s voice only grew colder, mocking. "You’re really not interested in our future, are you?" he sneered.

"I’m not interested in you," Trina spat, hanging up the phone before he could say another word. The audacity of the man made her skin crawl. How could he be so indifferent to her pain, to Tamara’s suffering? He didn’t care—he only cared about his own plans.

A nurse came to the door just as Trina was about to crumble again. "Tamara is awake," she said, her voice quiet but insistent. "You can go in now."

Trina and Michael rushed to the ward, but as they stepped into the hallway, Michael’s phone buzzed again. He glanced at the number and frowned, an unfamiliar dread creeping up his spine. "I need to take this call," he murmured, stepping outside.

The voice on the other end was like ice. "You fool," the man sneered. "You had a peaceful life in Texas. Why come back now, trying to play the hero? You’re meddling where you don’t belong." His words were venomous, dripping with malice. "You’ve got some nerve going after my fiancée. You’ll regret it."

Michael’s breath quickened, his heart racing with a sudden, dark realization. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low, threatening.

The man’s laugh was cold and devoid of humor. "You want to know? Come down to the parking lot. I’m waiting for you. Do you dare to show your face? If you don’t, you’ll never know the truth about your little hybrid’s illness."

Michael’s eyes narrowed as his mind raced. "You caused Tamara’s illness," he snarled, his fists clenching at his sides.

The line went dead with a sharp click, leaving Michael standing in the quiet, echoing hallway, the weight of the threat pressing down on him. Fury coursed through him, and his body shook with the need for action. Whoever had poisoned his daughter would pay.

Turning sharply, he headed for the stairs, his eyes blazing with fury, but before he could reach the door, Trina’s voice stopped him in his tracks. "Michael, where are you going?"

Her voice was full of panic, and for a brief moment, Michael faltered.

"Tamara needs the surgery. We need the bone marrow match," she said urgently, trying to keep him grounded. "We need to find out who did this, we need to save her."

Michael spun around, his face a mask of rage and determination. "What’s your fiancé’s name, Trina?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Trina blinked, her eyes widening in shock. "You—You know?" she stammered.

"Tell me," he repeated, his voice dark with growing fury.

Trina’s breath caught, the weight of the question sinking in. She could no longer avoid the truth. "His name is Jamie."

At the sound of that name, Michael’s face drained of color, his expression hardening with a terrible realization. It was him. It had to be. Jamie was the one behind this.

The storm within Michael reached its peak. The man who dared harm his daughter would feel the full force of his wrath.