Page 70 of Undercover Hearts

"I understand," she managed, the words feeling like ground glass in her throat.

Dr. Hassan studied her for a long moment, seeing far more than Jenna was comfortable revealing. Then she made a decision.

"Five minutes," she said quietly. "I'll take you now, before shift change."

Relief surged through Jenna as she followed Dr. Hassan through the maze of hospital corridors. They passed nursing stations and rooms filled with medical equipment, the antiseptic smell growing stronger as they approached the post-surgical recovery area.

"She's still heavily sedated," Dr. Hassan warned as they paused outside a set of double doors. "Don't expect much response. And prepare yourself. There are a lot of machines and tubes."

Jenna nodded, gathering her strength. She had seen injured colleagues before, had visited hospital rooms and rehabilitation centers. But something told her this would be different.

The recovery room was quieter than she expected, the hiss of ventilators and beep of monitors creating a muted symphony of medical vigilance. Dr. Hassan led her to a curtained area near the far wall, drawing the fabric aside to reveal the still form on the bed.

Jenna's breath caught painfully in her chest.

Michelle lay motionless, her skin ashen against the white hospital sheets. A ventilation tube secured to her mouth connected to a machine that pumped with mechanical precision. Multiple IV lines ran into her right arm, delivering fluids, blood, and medications. Her left shoulder was heavily bandaged, the arm immobilized against her body.

Michelle Reyes—whose presence had always filled any room with unspoken authority, whose movements carried such precise intention—now seemed impossibly fragile. Reduced to the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and the electronic beep that confirmed her heart continued beating.

"The ventilator is precautionary," Dr. Hassan explained gently. "Her vitals are stabilizing, but we'll keep her sedated for another twelve hours at least."

Jenna approached the bed with the caution of someone approaching a sleeping lion, afraid that any disruption might somehow undo the surgeons' work. She hesitated before reaching for Michelle's hand, the one without IV lines, her fingers curling gently around Michelle's limp ones.

"Hey," she whispered, the single word carrying a universe of meaning. "You did it. You're still here."

Michelle remained unresponsive, her closed eyelids motionless, the ventilator continuing its mechanical rhythm.

"The operation was a success," Jenna continued softly, her thumb tracing light circles on Michelle's hand.

Dr. Hassan had withdrawn slightly, busying herself with checking monitors while providing the illusion of privacy.

"But we have that conversation waiting, remember?" Jenna's voice dropped even lower, pitched for Michelle alone. "So don't think you can get out of it by sleeping all day."

She stood in silence for several moments, watching the steady electronic recording of Michelle's heartbeat—proof of continued life, of possibilities not yet extinguished. The reliefshe'd felt at Dr. Hassan's initial news deepened into something more profound as she absorbed the reality before her. Michelle was alive. Damaged, certainly. Recovery would be long and difficult. But she was alive.

"Five minutes," Dr. Hassan reminded gently from behind her.

Jenna nodded, her throat too tight for words. She gave Michelle's hand a final gentle squeeze, then turned to go.

A weak pressure against her fingers stopped her.

She turned back, heart suddenly racing, to find Michelle's eyelids fluttering. The ventilator prevented speech, but her fingers had definitely moved, applying the faintest pressure against Jenna's hand.

"Michelle?" she breathed, leaning closer.

Michelle's eyes opened halfway, unfocused and clouded with medication, but unmistakably conscious. She blinked slowly, confusion evident as she struggled to orient herself. Then her gaze found Jenna's face, and something shifted in those pain-hazed eyes: recognition, relief, and something more complex that Jenna didn't dare name.

"I'm here," Jenna assured her, carefully squeezing her hand again. "You're in the hospital. The surgery was successful. Everything's okay."

Michelle blinked once, deliberately, the gesture somehow conveying understanding despite her inability to speak. Her fingers twitched again in Jenna's grasp, an attempt at communication beyond words.

"Dr. Hassan," Jenna called softly, not taking her eyes from Michelle's face. "She's awake."

The doctor approached, professional assessment immediately taking precedence. She checked monitors and vital signs, spoke in calm, reassuring tones to Michelle, explaining her condition and the ventilator's temporary necessity.

"This is unusual but not concerning," she told Jenna. "Sometimes patients briefly surface from sedation. She'll likely drift back under soon."

Sure enough, Michelle's eyelids were already growing heavy, the medication pulling her back toward unconsciousness. Before they closed completely, her gaze locked with Jenna's one final time, her fingers applying a last deliberate pressure that felt like a promise.