The Mistress Who Ran Away With The Twins

Chapter 191: The Cost of A Hidden Truth

The hospital doors slid open before I even realized we had stopped.

Bright white lights swallowed us whole.

"Help! Please—!" My voice broke as Rome pushed the door open wider with his shoulder, Cairo still in his arms.

A nurse looked up from the station, her expression changing instantly when she saw Cairo’s condition.

"What happened?" she asked, already moving toward us.

"He can’t breathe," I said, the words tumbling out too fast. "His chest..he said it hurts...he just collapsed—"

"Bring him here!" she said, gesturing toward a gurney.

Rome laid Cairo down carefully. The moment his body left my arms, a cold emptiness spread through me so fast it made me dizzy.

"Pulse is rapid.." another nurse said, fingers already at Cairo’s wrist.

"Get oxygen on him. Call the pediatric cardiologist!" the first nurse instructed.

Everything started moving all at once.

A mask was placed over Cairo’s face. He flinched weakly but didn’t resist.

"M-Mom..." he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I’m here," I said immediately, stepping closer, gripping the edge of the gurney like it was the only thing keeping me standing. "I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere."

His fingers twitched, reaching for me. I grabbed his hand without hesitation, holding it tight.

"You’re strong, okay?" I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady even as tears blurred my vision. "Just stay strong for Mommy, okay?"

Rome stood on the other side, silent but tense. His hands hovered for a second before he carefully touched Cairo’s shoulder, as if asking permission without words.

Cairo’s breathing was still uneven.

"His heart rate’s too high!" one of the nurses said under her breath while adjusting the oxygen flow.

My stomach dropped.

"What does that mean?" I asked, my voice barely holding together.

"It means his heart is under stress," she replied quickly, not looking up. "We need to stabilize him."

"M-mom..." Cairo murmured again, his eyes barely open now.

"I’m here," I repeated, brushing his hair back gently. "I’m here."

"I’m sorry... b-because of me..." he whispered.

My chest tightened painfully.

"You don’t have to apologize," I said, shaking my head. "You didn’t do anything wrong. Just breathe, okay? Focus on breathing."

A doctor rushed in moments later, his presence commanding instant attention.

"What’s the situation?"

"Male child, sudden chest pain, shortness of breath, possible cardiac stress response," the nurse reported quickly. "History of a heart condition, according to the mother."

The doctor nodded, already checking Cairo’s vitals.

"Heart rate is elevated... irregular rhythm noted," he murmured. "Prepare ECG. Let’s get oxygen saturation and blood pressure now."

I felt my knees weaken.

Rome noticed immediately. His hand came to my elbow, steadying me before I could fall.

"Stand.." he said quietly, his voice low but firm.

I nodded, even though my legs didn’t feel like they belonged to me anymore.

"I’m fine.." I whispered.

But I wasn’t. Not even close.

"Mom..." Cairo’s voice was weaker now.

"I’m here.." I said again, squeezing his hand.

"...Don’t cry..."

I didn’t even realize I was crying until he said it.

I wiped my face quickly, forcing a smile that felt like it was tearing me apart. "I’m not crying. See? I’m okay."

It was a lie.

A terrible one. But I couldn’t let him see how scared I was.

"Sir, ma’am, we need space." the doctor said, already moving equipment into place.

My grip tightened instinctively on Cairo’s hand.

"I—can I stay?" I asked, panic rising again.

"You can stay, but please step back a little." the nurse said gently.

I nodded, stepping back just enough to give them room but not enough to let go of him completely.

Rome stayed close beside me.

Time felt strange. Too slow, yet too fast.

I didn’t know how long we stood there before the doctor finally stepped back, removing his gloves.

"He’s stabilizing..." he said.

My breath hitched.

"W-what does that mean?" I asked, afraid to hope too much.

"It means he’s responding to the oxygen and initial treatment," the doctor explained calmly. "His breathing is improving, and his heart rate is gradually coming down. The ECG shows signs of cardiac strain, likely triggered by acute emotional stress."

My grip tightened on Rome’s sleeve without me realizing it.

Triggered.

I already knew.

"We’re not seeing signs of a heart attack," the doctor continued, "but his condition is delicate. His heart was overworked, possibly due to a surge in stress hormones. In children with underlying heart conditions, that can cause symptoms like chest pain, shortness of breath, and even fainting."

"I—I think it’s stress," I said, my voice shaking. "He has a condition...his heart..he’s not supposed to be overwhelmed—"

The doctor nodded. "That aligns with what we’re seeing. But we’ll still need further tests and continuous monitoring to assess the extent of the strain."

This is my fault.

If I hadn’t...

If I had just..

I felt something warm wrap around my hand.

I looked down.

Rome.

He hadn’t said anything. He just held my hand as if he could feel me falling apart and was trying to hold me together.

I didn’t pull away.

"And I believe he has his own cardiologist monitoring him?" the doctor asked.

I looked up again. "W-why?"

The doctor exhaled slightly before answering, his tone more serious now.

"Because based on his response tonight, his condition may be progressing faster than expected. Episodes like this suggest his heart is becoming more sensitive to stress. It would be best to consult his primary cardiologist immediately."

My chest tightened.

"I’m sorry to say this," he continued carefully, "but you may need to start preparing for surgical intervention sooner than planned."

Surgery.

My knees almost gave out.

Cairo wasn’t ready.

Bern had said he needed at least another year. His body needed to be stronger.

"Yes, we understand that surgery at his age carries risks," the doctor added, as if reading my thoughts. "But delaying too long can also increase complications. It’s a delicate balance. That decision must come from a specialist who knows his full history."

"Given our hospital’s limitations," he continued, "we strongly recommend transferring or consulting with a top cardiothoracic surgeon. This kind of case requires advanced facilities and expertise."

"You don’t have to worry about that, doctor."

Rome’s voice cut in coldly.

"I can get the best cardiologists in the country, even abroad if needed," he continued, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something heavy, fear and guilt. "I just want to know... when can my son undergo surgery?"

The doctor hesitated slightly under Rome’s intense gaze.

"That... depends on further evaluation," he answered carefully. "We need to assess his current cardiac function, how well his body can handle the procedure, and the urgency based on progression. Only the operating surgeon can give you an accurate timeline and success rate."

"I’m sorry," he added, lowering his voice slightly. "But even with the best surgeon, the risks cannot be completely eliminated. Pediatric heart surgery is complex."

I saw Rome’s hand clench into a fist.

I reached out and gently touched it.

He stilled for a second, surprised but didn’t pull away.

"Can we see him?" I asked quietly.

"You can stay," the doctor said. "But keep things calm. No loud talking. He needs rest."

I nodded quickly. "Okay. Of course."

They moved Cairo to a quieter room shortly after.

The lights were dimmer there.

Too peaceful for how loud my thoughts were.

I sat beside his bed, my hand still wrapped around his.

His breathing was steadier now, softer, more even.

Rome stood near the window at first, his back to us, his hands in his pockets. The silence between us stretched, heavy with everything that had just happened.

"Rome..." I said quietly.

He didn’t turn immediately.

When he did, his expression was controlled, but I saw it.

The fear. The guilt. The anger at himself.

"He asked if I was his father," he said softly. "If I had just answered him honestly... maybe he wouldn’t have been overwhelmed like that."

I swallowed.

"No... it’s not your fault. It’s mine," I admitted. "I kept lying about you being their father because of my own selfishness. I was afraid... afraid you would take them away from me. Or worse...that once they knew, they would love you more than me."

My voice trembled.

"My pride... I couldn’t bear it."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

"This is my fault... this time, I couldn’t lie anymore.." I whispered.

Silence settled again.

"No... I should’ve been there," he said suddenly, his voice rough. "All those years. I should’ve been there for you and them."

I looked up at him.

"I didn’t let you," I said honestly. "I didn’t want you to know about them. That’s why I ran away."

His jaw tightened.

"No. It’s because I didn’t fight hard enough," he said. "I didn’t look for you. I should have searched everywhere... but I didn’t. Because I was a coward."

The words hung between us.

Both true and both painful.

Cairo shifted slightly in his sleep.

We both froze.

His fingers tightened weakly around mine.

"I’m here..." I whispered immediately.

His eyes fluttered open slowly.

"...Mom?"

"I’m here," I repeated, leaning closer. "You’re okay. You’re safe."

His gaze moved past me.

To Rome.

"...y-you’re my dad... right?"

Rome didn’t move at first.

Then slowly and carefully he stepped closer.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I’m sorry I didn’t answer you earlier. But I’m here now."

Cairo blinked, trying to process.

"You’re not lying this time?"

"No," Rome said firmly. "I will never lie to you again. And I’m not going anywhere."

Something in my chest cracked open.

Cairo’s lips moved slightly, like he wanted to say more but he was too tired.

His eyes closed again.

This time, he didn’t fight it.

The room fell silent.

But it wasn’t suffocating like before.

I looked at Rome.

He was still watching Cairo completely still, as if afraid that if he looked away, even for a second, something would be taken from him again.

"You can sit.." I said quietly.

He hesitated.

Then slowly, he pulled a chair closer.

Not too close but not far either.

And we stayed like that.

No words.

Just the quiet, steady sound of Cairo breathing between us.