The Day Our Promise Breaks (Charles and Evelyn) novel Chapter 652

Charlie was still fast asleep in the hotel bed.

Evelyn watched her daughter’s peaceful little face, cheeks rosy and full of life. Relief finally washed over her.

She didn’t have anything left to say to Charles. She just said, “Take care of Charlie,” and hung up.

Unable to resist, Evelyn leaned down and kissed her daughter’s soft cheek again and again. “Charlie, just wait a few more days for Mommy, okay?”

She lingered, unwilling to look away, before finally handing her phone back to the staff.

Charlie was safe.

Evelyn straightened up, feeling her strength return. Seeing her daughter’s sleeping face made her even more determined.

She would become someone her daughter could be proud of.

…

In the next exam room, the air was so tense it felt frozen solid.

Charlie’s tiny body had slipped into a deep coma. Her skin was a scary bluish-purple, her breathing so faint it was barely there. Every heartbeat was a desperate fight to hang on.

The monitor’s alarm screamed—a sharp, hopeless sound, even more urgent than the one by Charles’ bed. It was like the Reaper’s scythe swinging closer with every second.

Francis’ face was grim as he snapped at his top medical team, his voice cold as ice. “I don’t care what you have to do—keep her stable! Until we get results from Charles, nothing can happen to Charlie. Got it?!”

“Yes, Dr. Francis!” the team answered, faces set in stone as they threw themselves into a race against death.

Adrenaline, breathing support, cooling pads, blood purification—every method they could think of, thrown at the crisis like patching up a bridge over a bottomless cliff.

Still, Charlie’s life was hanging by a thread. Francis and his team fought for every second, barely keeping her from slipping away.

The alarm kept pounding, each shrill beep echoing in everyone’s chest.

…

Charles had barely ended the call before he coughed up blood.

“Charles, Charlie… she’s barely hanging on!” Andrew said, eyes glued to the monitor—the numbers on Charles’ screen were just as terrifying.

The monitors went wild, alarms blaring as his heart stopped.

“Charles!” Andrew and the nurses dove in, scrambling to bring him back.

The lab was thick with panic, every second stretching on forever.

Then—right in the chaos—Andrew spotted the screen linked to Charles’ blood.

The toxin curve, which had just shot off the charts, suddenly nosedived—dropping like a rock.

At the same time, a new, glowing immune marker appeared on the display.

It matched the toxin in Charlie’s blood exactly.

“An antibody?” Andrew’s voice shook with shock and pure relief. “He did it! He’s making antibodies!”

Charlie could be saved.