Chapter 3

For two hours after the surgery, I sat by Noah's bed.

The procedure had drained him, and he was fast asleep. Occasionally, his eyelashes fluttered. Thick gauze covered his eyes, leaving untouched not even a sliver of light for him to see through.

I didn't cry, nor did I cause a scene. I simply asked the nurses to print out all of the preop and postop records, neatly compiling them into a folder.

My mind was made up. I was taking Noah and leaving Damian; these documents would be the legal proof I needed to justify my departure.

Just as I finished arranging the papers, the ward door pushed open. To my surprise, Damian appeared in the doorway alongside the doctor.

He was unusually pale. Though dressed perfectly as always, there was an unmistakable wave of exhaustion rolling off him, as if he had just pulled himself away from a taxing theatrical performance.

His eyes immediately locked onto Noah. When his gaze landed on the thick gauze covering his son's eyes, his entire body visibly stiffened.

"Noah actually had the surgery? What are the results?"

The doctor handed over the report. "We were unable to proceed with the highrisk procedure and could only try our best to clean out the lesions. Currently, the child's optic nerves are severely damaged. There was no pupillary light reflex during or after the surgery. For now, he is diagnosed as completely blind."

Those words hit Damian like a physical punch.

He swayed slightly, his pale face turning to me. "Everything you told me on the phone... it was exactly like this?"

I pushed the stack of medical records toward him. "It's even worse than what I told you."

He flipped to the page, his knuckles turning white as he stared at the words 'Irreversible' and 'Blindness'.

"I... I didn't know... I thought you were just—"

"You thought I was lying. You thought I was jealous that Viola got to be with you, so I used Noah to trick you into coming back," I cut in coldly. "Looking at the outcome now, I almost wish that were true."

Damian looked up, his eyes swimming with remorse and selfblame. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Elena, I was wrong."

"I know," I said. "But I will never forgive you. I'm taking Noah back to my parents' home."

The air instantly snapped taut.

He opened his mouth to argue, but the doctor intervened. "Mr. Rossi, if you're willing, we can contact a top retinal reconstruction expert in Europe. With his exceptional surgical skills, it might still be possible to restore partial functionality to the retinas."

Damian seized the words like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline. "Bring him here. Whatever the cost, whatever his conditions."

The doctor nodded and left the room. Damian looked back at me, his gaze incredibly complex, clearly wanting to resume our conversation about me leaving.

But for Noah's sake, I shut it down with a single sentence: "Go sort out the expert. We'll talk about the rest later."

He parted his lips, but ultimately left the words unsaid. Stepping up to the bed, he reached out and touched Noah's forehead. "Noah."

Noah, still under anesthesia, didn't react.

Damian's hand lingered for two seconds before clenching tightly into a fist. He turned and walked out of the room.

For the next five days, we stayed in the intensive care unit, waiting for the top retinal specialist to fly in.

The public hospital's protocols ran like clockwork—medications, observations, dressing changes, checkups—with the doctors and nurses doing everything they could to care for the boy.

Damian did visit Noah more frequently, but almost every single time, Viola would call him away with some fabricated excuse.

On the afternoon of the first day, he stood by the bed, staring at the motionless eyes beneath the gauze. "Why hasn't he woken up yet?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Conservative surgery requires a full recovery period from anesthesia. Combined with the surgical trauma, the child's body is quite weak right now. This is perfectly normal," a nurse explained.

Pacing the edge of consciousness, Noah furrowed his brows slightly. "Mommy..."

I quickly grabbed his hand. "I'm right here."

Seeing this, Damian also reached out. "Noah, Daddy's here."

Just then, his phone buzzed.

The nurses were busy nearby, but the notification sound was impossible to miss. The screen lit up, and I caught a glimpse of the message—

[Viola: There's a suspicious car parked outside the safe house. Leon is terrified. Can you come over?]

He frowned, looking at me. "I need to go handle this. I'll be back soon." He left right after.

Watching his retreating back, a nurse couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "The child isn't even fully awake yet... What an irresponsible father."

I said nothing, merely holding Noah's hand a little tighter.

The next morning, he came by and sat down for less than five minutes.

Noah had just woken up a bit. As his eyelashes fluttered against the gauze, he blinked a few times, but his pupils still didn't react to the light.

"Mommy?" he called out in confusion. "It's so dark."

My chest tightened. "Don't move, baby. The doctor is taking a look."

Damian watched the scene. Just as he leaned in to try and comfort him, his phone rang again.

[Viola: Old man Cassano insists on seeing you. He says if you don't show up, he'll cancel the truce negotiations.]

He gritted his teeth, patting Noah's head. "Daddy has to go negotiate something very important. I'll be right back as soon as I'm done."

Noah instinctively grabbed his sleeve. "Daddy, can you... can you come back a little earlier today?"

Damian paused for a second. "I'll try my best." And then he left again.

As soon as the door clicked shut, a young nurse beside me whispered, "Ma'am, leaving right when the child wakes up... that's just too..."

Another nurse tugged at her sleeve, signaling her to be quiet.

I gave a bitter little smile, not bothering to explain. "He has things he considers more important."

On the third and fourth days, he was called away by Viola for various reasons. Once, the excuse was literally just that Leon missed him so much he wouldn't stop crying. Damian hesitated for a moment, then walked out the door.

On the fifth day, the top retinal expert finally arrived.

After a brief briefing and reviewing all the imaging, he confirmed that while the child's retinal structure was severely devastated, a small amount of tissue remained viable.

He didn't sugarcoat it. "What we can do now is attempt to reconstruct part of the retinal structure, giving him at least a chance to regain his vision. But this is an extremely difficult procedure with massive risks."

Damian stood off to the side. "As long as there's a shred of hope, do it."

The expert looked at me. "What about the mother?"

"I consent," I said. "As long as there is a chance for him to see again."

The retinal reconstruction surgery was scheduled immediately.

Backed by the Rossi Family's deep pockets, the hospital fully cooperated with the expert's team. Multinational equipment, specially approved drugs, and a dedicated operating room were all prepared in record time.

When the light above the operating room flicked on, I sat in the chair outside, so cold I felt numb. I gripped the stack of earlier medical reports in my hands.

From the ER to today, every timeline was documented on these papers—the exact time I messaged Damian, the times of his missed calls, the shifting numbers on the countdown screen, and the blank space where his preop signature should have been.

I read through them again and again, coming to one absolute conclusion:

He might feel sorry for Noah, but I would never trust him again.

Damian was waiting outside too. Standing by the operating room doors, it was the very first time he hadn't left.

His phone buzzed twice.

[Viola: The final clause of the truce needs your personal confirmation. If you aren't here, I can't hold Cassano's men back.]

[Viola: Leon keeps asking where you went. He's waiting for you to have dinner with him.]

He glanced at the screen, but didn't reply.

The expert team filtered in and out, and the surgery stretched on for nearly five hours.

When the light finally went off, everyone let out a collective breath.

The lead surgeon pulled down his mask. "The surgery was a success. We've reconstructed part of the retinal structure, and the optical pathways are currently clear. Now, everything hinges on his postop recovery. Theoretically, the child has a chance to see again."

I could barely stand. "He can really see?"

"Not right now," the expert corrected scientifically. "He is currently in a highly sensitive postop sealing phase. We will do the first protective check and remove the shields in a week. If he heals well, he may regain his vision. But the retinas are incredibly fragile. He requires longterm, absolute bed rest. He must be kept far away from any violent environments, harsh lights, or high psychological stress."

He looked me dead in the eyes and emphasized: "Simply put, your living environment must be extremely safe and stable. There can be absolutely no conflicts."

Damian immediately nodded. "I will give him the safest environment possible."

The expert left, and the nurses wheeled Noah back to his ward.

When he woke up this time, his eyes were blocked by thick, protective shields. He couldn't see a thing.

"Mommy..." his voice was incredibly weak. "Do I... still have a chance to see things?"

I held his hand. "You do. The doctor said as long as you rest properly, you'll be able to see."

"Does that mean I can't run around?" he asked earnestly. "I can't go out to play?"

"Not for a while," I managed a steady voice. "Once your eyes are completely healed, we'll go together."

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Then I'll just lie down and be good."

The deep crease between Damian's brows finally relaxed. "When we get back to the estate, I'll set up the safest environment for him. There is a completely sealedoff residential sector in the back mountains. No armed activities will be permitted there, and the perimeter will be guarded by security I handpick myself. I guarantee absolutely zero danger will come near him."

I looked at Noah's newlyrepaired eyes and said calmly, "As long as danger stays away from him, anywhere is fine."

Damian frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"The doctor said he needs to stay away from violence and bloodshed," I said. "You know exactly what kind of world you live in."

"I can adjust," he stated grimly. "You and Noah will live in the back mountains. I will restrict all Family enforcement activities to the outer perimeter. No violence will enter the residential sector. Everything in your life will be insulated. He will have absolute safety."

I stared at him. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," he said without a second of hesitation. "I will give Noah the safest environment."

I nodded—a very simple motion.

"Alright," I said. "Then let's go back to the estate and pack our things first."

He let out a small breath of relief. "I'll wait for you there."

On the surface, it looked like I had accepted his arrangement.

But internally, my mind was crystal clear.

He was the one who brought in the expert to save our son's eyes this time. But if it weren't for his blatant negligence, why would Noah have needed this expert in the first place?

The rejected calls, the blacklisting, the accusations that I was forging medical documents... every ounce of mistrust that morning had already hollowed out this marriage entirely.

I would never again entrust Noah to a man who would drop everything the second Viola called his name.

After completing the discharge protocols, I took Noah back to the Rossi Estate.

The lights were just as bright, the carpets just as plush, and the oil paintings just as opulent.

But to Noah, they were all just blurry blocks of colour through his shields.

"Mommy, this feels like..." he squinted. "The place we used to live?"

"It is," I led him by the hand. "We're just here to get our things."

I packed up what belonged to me piece by piece—a few outfits, some books, and my child's toys.

Then, I had a maid take Noah to the guest room to rest while I returned to my own bedroom.

I opened the nightstand, reaching into the bottom drawer to pull out a ring I hadn't worn in years.

The cold metal met my fingertips; its heavy weight was incredibly familiar.

It was the signet of my true Family.

I slid the ring onto my ring finger.

Then, I pulled out an old, poweredoff phone—one that was not connected to the Rossi network, immune to tracking and surveillance.

I turned it on.

In the contact list, the top name sat quietly.

[Family Operator]

I pressed dial.

It rang just once before it was answered.

A deep, brief voice came through the line. "Elena?"

"It's me," I said.

"Please give your command."

I stayed silent for a moment before speaking with absolute resolve. "I want to come home."