Chapter 7 - The SurgeryMaya’s surgery lasted four hours and twenty-one minutes.
Roman hated every second.
He sat in the private waiting room with Elena.
At hour two, Elena said, “You’re making everyone nervous.”
“I’m sitting.”
“You’re threatening the furniture.”
Roman looked at her.
Elena grinned.
Then her expression softened.
“She’ll be okay.”
Roman looked toward the operating doors.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
Elena moved closer.
“But neither do you.”
Roman had spent his life preparing for the worst.
Maya had begun teaching him that expecting pain did not prevent it.
Sometimes it merely stole the hours before it arrived.
When the surgeon finally appeared, Roman stood.
“Everything went well.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
Elena smiled.
The surgeon continued explaining repairs.
Roman retained perhaps twenty percent.
One phrase mattered.
“With proper therapy, she should regain significantly better stability.”
Maya woke groggy.
Roman sat beside her.
Her eyes opened.
She frowned at him.
“Why do you look terrible?”
Roman stared.
“You just had surgery.”
“Yes, but I was unconscious. What’s your excuse?”
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
The nurse looked over.
Maya smiled faintly.
“Did Elena survive your pacing?”
“Barely.”
“Good.”
Roman took her hand.
Maya’s eyes began closing again.
“Roman?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t let anyone throw away my old brace.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“I want to burn it.”
He smiled.
“Done.”
Her eyes opened.
“Metaphorically.”
Roman’s smile disappeared.
“Fine.”
“No actual fire.”
“You take all the joy out of things.”
She fell asleep smiling.
Recovery was difficult.
Painful.
Slow.
Maya hated needing help.
Roman learned not to provide it before she asked.
Most of the time.
Elena learned the same lesson.
Meanwhile, Elena’s own recovery accelerated.
She could stand for nearly three minutes.
Take assisted steps between parallel bars.
Transfer independently.
Doctors warned everyone not to create unrealistic expectations.
Maya agreed.
Then quietly created goals anyway.
One step.
Then another.
No promises.
Only possibilities.
March arrived.
Then April.
Aaron Pike’s trial approached.
His attorney offered a plea.
Twenty-seven years.
Roman wanted life.
Elena surprised everyone.
“Take it.”
Roman looked at her.
“He killed Mom.”
“I know.”
“He destroyed three years of your life.”
Elena’s eyes sharpened.
“No.”
Roman stopped.
“He caused the accident.”
She touched her wheelchair.
“He caused this injury.”
Then touched her chest.
“But the three years afterward?”
Her voice softened.
“We gave him those.”
Roman frowned.
Elena continued.
“I locked myself in a room because I thought if I stopped living, I was still grieving Mom.”
Tears appeared.
“I thought laughing meant I had forgotten her.”
Roman looked down.
Maya sat quietly nearby.
Elena continued.
“I’m tired of building my life around Aaron Pike.”
She looked at her brother.
“Twenty-seven years means I’ll be fifty-nine when he gets out.”
A small smile.
“I plan to be very busy.”
Roman laughed softly.
He accepted Elena’s decision.
Aaron pled guilty.
At sentencing, Maya gave a victim impact statement.
She walked to the podium with a cane.
No brace.
Roman sat behind her.
She did not look at Aaron until the final paragraph.
“You spent years telling me I would never be wanted by anyone else.”
Aaron stared at her.
Maya continued.
“But that was never the worst lie you told me.”
Her voice was steady.
“The worst lie was convincing me that surviving you was all my life would ever be.”
She looked toward Elena.
Then Roman.
“I have learned differently.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened.
Maya faced him again.
“You no longer owe me an apology.”
Pause.
“You owe me nothing.”
Another pause.
“And I owe you nothing either.”
She stepped away.
Aaron Pike was sentenced to twenty-seven years.
Outside the courthouse, reporters waited.
Maya hated cameras.
Roman hated reporters.
Elena loved the chaos.
“You look famous,” Maya told her.
“I am famous.”
“For nearly running over a cameraman?”
“He moved.”
Roman guided them toward the car.
Then a reporter shouted:
“Mr. DeLuca, is Ms. Turner your girlfriend?”
Maya stopped.
Roman stopped.
Elena whispered, “Oh, this is excellent.”
Roman looked at Maya.
He could have ignored it.
Could have said no comment.
Instead he asked quietly, “What do you want me to say?”
Maya stared at him.
That question meant more than the answer.
She smiled.
“Tell the truth.”
Roman turned to the reporter.
“Yes.”
Cameras exploded.
Elena laughed.
Maya covered her face.
Inside the car, she looked at Roman.
“That was very public.”
“You said tell the truth.”
“I didn’t say announce it like a corporate acquisition.”
Roman frowned.
“What was I supposed to say?”
Elena leaned forward from the back seat.
“Maybe: Yes, I’m hopelessly in love with her.”
Silence.
Roman stared ahead.
Maya slowly turned.
Elena’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Maya looked at Roman.
“Are you?”
He glared at his sister in the mirror.
“Elena.”
“No, no. This is better.”
“Maya—”
She touched his arm.
“You don’t have to answer.”
Roman looked at her.
His expression changed.
“Yes.”
Maya’s breath caught.
“I am.”
The car became completely silent.
Elena whispered, “I’m incredible.”
Roman ignored her.
Maya’s eyes filled.
“You picked a terrible place to tell me.”
“You asked.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You were looking at me.”
“That’s not a question.”
Roman almost smiled.
Maya leaned over and kissed him.
Elena immediately began applauding.
“Stop.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“I waited months for this.”
May you like
Maya laughed into Roman’s shoulder.
And for once, Roman let the noise fill the car.
