BLOODlines

6: Search for the Donor

Days slipped by inside the hospital, each one bleeding into the next. Cherish regained a little strength with every sunrise, but the questions gnawed at her far more fiercely than her wounds.

Every time she opened her eyes, she expected answers. But all she received was silence. Her mother’s silence.

The nurses busied themselves with their duties, always polite, always careful, but whenever she asked them about the transfusion, they exchanged quick glances before brushing her off. “Focus on resting,” they’d say, or “Your mother doesn’t want you worrying.”

It only fueled her suspicion.

Late one afternoon, when the ward was quiet, Cherish caught one of the younger nurses by the wrist as she adjusted the IV drip. Her voice was weak but steady. “Please… tell me who it was. The one who gave blood for me.”

The nurse froze, her eyes darting nervously toward the door. “Miss Adams, I—I can’t…”

“You can,” Cherish whispered, tightening her grip despite her frailty. “Please. I won’t tell anyone you told me. But I need to know. I feel him—like he’s still here.”

The nurse swallowed hard, torn between duty and the desperation in Cherish’s eyes. Before she could speak, the door swung open.

Mrs. Adams walked in.

The nurse jerked her hand free instantly, lowering her head in guilt. Evelyn’s sharp gaze swept the room, her voice cool and clipped. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, madam,” the nurse stammered. “Just checking the drip.”

Evelyn dismissed her with a flick of the hand. As the nurse fled, Evelyn turned back to her daughter. “I warned you not to trouble yourself with nonsense. This obsession with a so-called donor—it ends now.”

Cherish met her mother’s glare with quiet defiance. “Why won’t you tell me? What are you hiding from me?”

Her mother’s lips curved into a thin, cold smile. “Some truths are better buried, Cherish. Let go of this foolishness before it destroys you.”

Cherish looked away, but in her chest the fire only grew. If her mother wanted the truth buried, it meant the truth mattered more than anything.

Meanwhile, in another wing of the hospital, Frank prepared to leave. His strength had returned enough for him to walk unaided, though Ray hovered anxiously at his side.

“You sure you don’t want to see her before we go?” Ray asked softly.

Frank shook his head. “Her mother doesn’t want me near her. And she doesn’t even know my name. Best we keep it that way.”

Ray sighed, his heart heavy. “But she deserves to know the man who saved her.”

“She deserves her life back,” Frank countered flatly. “Not another burden.”

He slung his jacket over his shoulder, but his feet hesitated before stepping through the hospital doors. A strange pull tugged at him, an invisible tether drawing him back toward the ward he was leaving behind.

He clenched his jaw and forced himself forward. He told himself it was for the best—that he had done his part. But deep down, a voice whispered otherwise: She’s part of you now.

That night, Cherish stared at the ceiling of her room, her body restless despite her weakness. Sleep evaded her.

Every beat of her heart reminded her she was alive because of him.

Not the doctors. Not her mother. Him.

She shut her eyes, whispering into the silence, “I’ll find you. No matter what it takes.”

Unknown to Cherish, at that very hour Frank was walking away from the hospital, his figure swallowed by the city’s shadows. Yet as he disappeared into the night, her words echoed in the air between them—as though fate itself was listening.