Chapter 287
Tears sprang to Ernest’s eyes in an instant, shimmering on his lashes before spilling free from the corners. Nyla’s composure crumbled entirely. She clutched her eldest grandson’s hand with fervent strength, her voice fracturing as sobs overtook her. “Ernest, my darling!”
Eric, ever mindful of his grandmother’s fragile state, steadied her with a gentle touch. “Grandma, you mustn’t weep so. It’ll only weigh on Ernest’s heart even more!”
At his words, Nyla wrestled her sobs into submission, though the ache within her chest gnawed relentlessly.
Yet something felt amiss. Ernest’s response… it wasn’t what she had envisioned. She turned to the doctor, her eyes alight with unspoken queries. Hadn’t he really awakened? If he was truly conscious, shouldn’t words have tumbled from his lips by now? Since their arrival, Ernest had uttered not a sound.
Reading her distress, the doctor offered a soothing explanation. “Mrs. Flynn, there’s no cause for alarm. This is quite typical for someone emerging from such a prolonged slumber…” It was only natural for someone rousing from years in a coma to need time to mend. Ernest’s mind was awake, but his voice, his movement, even the simplest acts of self-reliance—they would require patient rehabilitation. He was starting anew, like a child learning the world afresh.
“Rest assured, though,” the doctor added with calm certainty, “with time and therapy, he’ll make strides forward.”
Nyla released a tremulous breath and then gave Ernest’s hand a tender pat. “Did you hear that, love? All will be well in time. No need to hurry, alright?”
Though Ernest’s lips remained sealed, the steady stream of tears spoke volumes—he understood her every word.
Nyla’s heart twisted anew. “You must be weary, poor thing. I’m sorry we roused you so late. Rest now, dear one. Grandma will stay right by your side.”
“Yes,” Eric chimed in, his tone warm and steadfast. “I’ll be here too.” Ernest, still voiceless, let his eyes drift shut once more, surrendering to slumber’s gentle pull.
Once he was peacefully asleep, Eric guided Nyla to the outer lounge, where the doctor awaited to shed further light on Ernest’s condition.
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“Speak plainly,” Nyla demanded, her tone resolute and imbued with a quiet power. Though she had long relinquished the helm of the Flynn dynasty, her presence still commanded reverence. “Will Ernest ever reclaim the life he once knew?”
The doctor faltered for a fleeting moment before answering with measured candor. “I cannot vow a complete restoration. Medicine is an art of uncertainties, and each soul dances to its own rhythm of healing…” Seeing Nyla’s face shadow with dismay, he hastened to bolster her spirits. “Yet I swear to you, we’ll leave no stone unturned in his care. Mrs. Flynn, we must hold fast to hope.”
His eyes darted to Eric, a silent plea for reinforcement.
A weight settled in Eric’s chest, heavy as stone, yet he had no luxury to falter. With Ernest still frail, the mantle of the Flynn family’s future rested squarely upon him, demanding that he stand tall.
Eric took a steady breath, pushing his emotions aside before speaking. “Grandma, please have some faith in Ernest. Have you forgotten how strong he is? He survived a coma—do you really think a bit of rehab will slow him down?”
His words resonated with Nyla, stirring something deep within her. A slow nod accompanied her sigh. “You’re right. Ernest has always been the responsible one. From the time he was little until now, he never gave me a reason to worry. He excelled at everything he did…” But as her eyes shifted toward her younger grandson, her expression darkened. “Unlike you! You do nothing but give me headaches!” A flicker of something unreadable crossed Eric’s face, disappearing just as quickly as it came.