Chapter 156

The hospital room was too quiet. Only the steady beep of monitors and the whisper of the oxygen machine broke the silence. Camille sat beside Victoria’s bed, her hand gently holding the older woman’s fragile fingers. Three days had passed since the bombing; three days of watching Victoria struggle, hour by hour.

The doctors had explained it in simple terms at first: Victoria’s body, already fighting cancer, couldn’t handle the additional strain of smoke inhalation and shock. Her lungs were struggling; her heart was weakening. Each breath seemed to cost her more than the last.

Camille leaned forward, studying Victoria’s pale face. The woman who had always seemed invincible now looked small against the white hospital sheets. The tubes and wires connected to her body only emphasized her fragility.

“You need to eat something,” Alexander said softly from the doorway. He carried a paper bag that smelled of soup and bread.

Camille shook her head without looking up. “I’m not hungry.”

Alexander moved to her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t left this room in thirty-six hours. You need food. Rest.”

“I can’t leave her,” Camille whispered, her voice catching. “What if she wakes up and I’m not here? What if she…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t speak the fear that had haunted her for three days.

Alexander pulled a chair beside her and sat down. “The doctors are doing everything they can.”

“Is it enough?” Camille asked, her eyes never leaving Victoria’s face. “The last update wasn’t promising.”

Alexander didn’t argue. There was no point pretending things weren’t serious.

Camille looked down at Victoria’s hand in hers, the skin thin, blue veins visible beneath the surface. This hand had pulled her from darkness, shown her how to rebuild her life, and taught her strength when she believed herself broken beyond repair.

“I can’t lose her,” Camille said, her voice barely audible. “Not like this. Not because of Rose.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Alexander said firmly.

“Isn’t it? Rose targeted the gala because of me. She planted those bombs to destroy what I had built.” Camille’s free hand curled into a fist. “If Victoria dies because of that…”

“She would tell you not to think that way.”

Camille knew he was right. Victoria would never allow such self-pity, never permit Camille to shoulder blame that wasn’t hers. But knowing that didn’t ease the crushing weight in her chest.

The monitors beeped, slightly faster than before. Victoria’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open.

“Should I call the nurse?” Alexander asked, already half-rising from his chair.

Camille shook her head. “It happens sometimes. They said it’s normal.”

Normal. What a strange word to describe any of this. Nothing had been normal since the night of the gala. The bombing had made national news. The Phoenix Foundation’s triumphant launch had become a story of terrorism and tragedy. And Victoria, who had been slowly losing her battle with cancer, now faced a new fight because of the smoke damage to her lungs.

A light knock on the door interrupted Camille’s thoughts. Dr. Patel entered, followed by another doctor Camille hadn’t seen before.

“Ms. Kane,” Dr. Patel said, addressing Camille. “This is Dr. Sharma, our oncology specialist. She’s been reviewing Victoria’s latest test results.”

Camille tensed, preparing for bad news. Alexander’s hand found her shoulder, steadying her.

Dr. Sharma stepped forward, her expression thoughtful rather than grim. “We’ve detected something unexpected in the latest scans.”

“What is it?” Camille asked, her throat tight with fear.

“The cancer appears more contained than we initially believed,” Dr. Sharma explained. “Previous scans suggested spread to multiple organs, but our more detailed imaging shows the disease is primarily still concentrated in the pancreas, with only minor involvement of surrounding tissues.”

Camille stared at her, trying to process what this meant. “So… it’s not as bad as you thought?”

“The cancer is still serious,” Dr. Sharma cautioned. “But this new finding changes our approach. With aggressive treatment, a combination of targeted radiation therapy and new immunotherapy protocols, we could potentially extend Ms. Kane’s life expectancy significantly.”

“How significantly?” Alexander asked.

“It’s difficult to say with certainty,” Dr. Sharma replied. “But in cases similar to Ms. Kane’s, we’ve seen patients survive for years rather than months. The smoke inhalation complications are our immediate concern, but once those are managed, we could begin the new treatment protocol.”

Camille felt dizzy with hope, a feeling so unexpected she hardly recognized it. “Years? She could have years?”

“With appropriate treatment and careful management, yes. It’s possible.”

The doctors continued explaining the treatment plan, but Camille barely heard them. Years. Not months. Not weeks. Years. Time for conversations. For memories. For goodbyes that weren’t rushed by the ticking clock of terminal illness.

When the doctors left, promising to return with more details after Victoria woke, Camille turned to Alexander, tears filling her eyes.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered. “She might not… she could have…”

Alexander pulled her into a tight embrace. “I heard. It’s good news, Camille. The best we could hope for.”

Camille buried her face against his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely now, not tears of despair but of cautious hope. She had been preparing herself for imminent loss. To suddenly have the possibility of more time felt like a gift beyond measure.

A soft sound from the bed made them both turn. Victoria’s eyes were open, watching them with a clarity that had been absent for days.

“Victoria?” Camille moved quickly to her side. “Can you hear me?”

Victoria nodded slightly, her gaze steady despite the obvious effort it took to remain alert. “I heard… the doctors,” she whispered, her voice raspy from the breathing tube that had been removed just yesterday.

“You’re going to get better treatment,” Camille said, taking Victoria’s hand between both of hers. “There’s a chance, a real chance…”

“I heard,” Victoria interrupted gently. The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Years, not months.”

“Yes,” Camille confirmed, a sob of relief escaping her. “Years.”

Victoria’s fingers tightened around Camille’s, a weak grip, but stronger than yesterday. “Good,” she said simply. “There’s still… work to do.”

Typical Victoria, Camille thought. Already thinking about Kane Industries, about business, about the empire she had built.

But Victoria continued, her eyes holding Camille’s with surprising intensity. “Work like… watching you rebuild. Seeing you… find happiness.”

Alexander stepped closer, placing a hand on Camille’s shoulder. “She will,” he promised Victoria. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Victoria nodded slightly, acknowledging his vow. “The bombing,” she said, her voice growing clearer with each word. “Rose?”

“She hasn’t been caught yet,” Alexander answered before Camille could. “But the FBI are reviewing the footage from the hotel and are looking for Rose. It’s just a matter of time.”

Victoria’s eyes returned to Camille. “What will you do… when they find her?”

Camille hadn’t allowed herself to think that far ahead. Her focus had been entirely on Victoria, on the moment-by-moment battle for recovery. But now, with the possibility of years rather than days stretched before them, the question of Rose loomed larger.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Part of me wants justice. Part of me wants…”

“Revenge,” Victoria finished for her. No judgment in the word, just understanding.

“Yes,” Camille acknowledged. “But I also want to move forward. To rebuild what she destroyed. To show her that she failed to break me.” She squeezed Victoria’s hand gently. “Failed to take you from me.”

Victoria’s expression softened. “Choose life,” she said, the words carrying weight beyond their simplicity. “Choose creation over destruction. Promise me.”

The request echoed what Victoria had been teaching Camille since rescuing her from that parking garage: that true power comes not from tearing down but from building up; not from revenge but from rising above it.

“I promise,” Camille whispered, meaning it more now than she could have before the doctors’ news. With the gift of time came the possibility of healing; of moving beyond the anger that had driven her for so long.

Victoria’s eyes closed briefly, fatigue evident in every line of her face. When she opened them again, there was a vulnerability there Camille had rarely seen.

“Stay with me,” Victoria murmured. “Until I fall asleep.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Camille assured her, moving closer. “I’ll be right here, Mommy.”

The word slipped out naturally, unplanned yet perfectly right. Camille had called Victoria that once before, had barely acknowledged to herself the maternal role Victoria had taken in her life. But in this moment of shared vulnerability and hope, the truth of their relationship crystallized into that single word.

Victoria’s eyes widened slightly, a flash of emotion crossing her face before her usual composure returned. But her fingers tightened around Camille’s, and there was no mistaking the tears that gathered at the corners of her eyes.

“My girl,” she whispered, the words filled with a tenderness few people had ever heard from Victoria Kane. “My beautiful, strong girl.”

Alexander moved quietly to the door, giving them privacy for this intimate moment. As he stepped into the hallway, he caught a glimpse of Camille leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Victoria’s forehead—daughter to mother, a bond sealed in crisis and now given the precious gift of time to grow.

Outside the hospital window, the sun broke through clouds that had hung over the city since the bombing. A shaft of golden light fell across the bed, illuminating Victoria’s silver hair and Camille’s bent head, two women who had faced destruction and emerged with the possibility of years ahead rather than days.

It wasn’t a guarantee. The doctors had been clear about the challenges Victoria still faced. But it was hope, fragile but real. And in that moment, as Victoria drifted back to sleep with Camille still holding her hand, hope seemed enough to build a future on.

A future where creation trumped destruction. Where “Mommy” wasn’t a word said only in final goodbyes but in everyday moments for years to come. Where Rose’s bombs had failed to destroy what mattered most, the bond between two women who had chosen each other as family.