Chapter 6 - A Race Against Time
The atmosphere in the Intensive Care Unit was suffocatingly tense. Heart monitors beeped erratically, and medical staff moved swiftly in and out of Sarah's room. Through the glass window, Nathan saw Sarah lying pale and motionless, connected to multiple intravenous lines and oxygen tubes.
Lily stood near the window, clutching her small teddy bear, tears silently rolling down her soft cheeks. She didn't scream or throw a tantrum; her quiet, dignified sorrow broke Nathan's heart far more than any loud crying ever could.
Nathan walked over and knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her tiny shoulders. "Lily..."
"She's slipping away, isn't she?" Lily whispered, looking up at him with heartbroken eyes. "Just like the flowers in our old window box when the winter came."
"No," Nathan said fiercely, pulling her close. "I promised you I wouldn't let anything happen to her. Trust me, Lily. Please."
Nathan immediately retreated to the hospital's private conference room and summoned his top executive team, medical advisors, and private investigators.
"I want a global search," Nathan ordered, slamming his hand on the table. "Contact every hospital network in Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Screen every registered donor database. I will pay whatever fee, sponsor whatever medical research grant, or buy whatever air-ambulance service is necessary. We have forty-eight hours."
While the team scrambled into action, Nathan made a personal decision. He walked into the hospital's laboratory. "Test me," he told the lead technician.
The doctor looked surprised. "Mr. Cole, the chances of a non-related individual matching an O-negative recipient with rare antibodies are less than one in a million—"
"I don't care about the odds! Draw my blood and test it now!" Nathan barked.
For the next twelve hours, the clock ticked down mercilessly. Forty-eight hours became thirty-six, then twenty-four. Reports poured in from around the globe—London, Tokyo, Berlin—but every potential lead turned into a dead end due to tissue incompatibility or logistical impossibilities.
By the eighteenth hour, Nathan sat alone in the chapel of the hospital. The man who had put his faith only in money, power, and cold hard facts for fifteen years sat on a wooden pew, staring up at the stained-glass window. He bowed his head, interlaced his long fingers, and prayed—a desperate, raw prayer for the life of a woman he barely knew, for the sake of the little girl who had reopened his closed heart.
Suddenly, the chapel doors swung open. Dr. Harrison ran in, holding a paper file, his face flushed with disbelief.
"Nathan! You need to see this!" Harrison gasped, catching his breath.
Nathan stood up quickly. "Did you find a donor in the global database?"
"No," Dr. Harrison said, holding up the lab results. "The global search failed. But your blood test results just came back from our lab. Nathan... it’s an absolute miracle. Your tissue type, HLA markers, and cross-matching are a near-perfect match for Sarah Vance."
Nathan stared at the document, stunned. A non-blood-related match of this precision was statistically near-impossible. It was as if fate itself had woven their lives together from the very beginning.
"Prep the operating room," Nathan said without a second's hesitation, a surge of absolute resolve washing over him.
"Wait, Nathan, think about this!" Dr. Harrison warned. "Organ donation surgery carries serious risks for the donor, especially under high stress. You are the CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate. You have everything to lose!"
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Nathan pulled the embroidered crimson silk patch—the little white dove Lily had made for him—out of his pocket and held it in his hand.
"For fifteen years, I thought I had everything," Nathan said quietly, a soft smile finally touching his lips. "In reality, I had nothing. Prepare the surgery."
