The Day Our Promise Breaks (Charles and Evelyn) novel Chapter 655

Andrew’s grip on Evelyn’s wrist was firm and urgent, nearly dragging her—off balance and breathless—into the chaos of the ER.

The sharp sting of disinfectant, mixed with the unmistakable tang of blood, hit her all at once, wrapping around her like an icy shroud.

Her gaze was pulled, unrelenting, to the center of the room.

Charles.

The man who used to light up every room with his confidence and charm now lay pale and lifeless against the sterile white pillow. His skin was a ghostly blue-gray, lips cracked and dark, the rise and fall of his chest barely enough to fog the inside of his oxygen mask.

He looked like a shell, all the fire and spirit sucked out, kept tethered to this world only by the relentless, mechanical beeping of monitors—a cold reminder that, for now, life still clung to him.

Evelyn’s eyes drifted down, tracing the raw evidence of his suffering. The collar of his hospital gown gaped, revealing skin crisscrossed with agony: a constellation of pinpricks, each one capped with a tiny, dried bead of blood; fresh stitches oozing faintly at the edges; unnatural swelling beneath the surface, as if his body had turned against itself.

Every scar, every wound, screamed of the brutal experiments he’d endured—all for Charlie. All for their little girl.

A storm of emotion welled up inside her: anger, grief, something dangerously close to pity.

“Ms. Evelyn!”

Andrew’s voice cracked, desperate. “Please—just talk to him! Say something—anything! Even if it’s a lie, just let him hear your voice! That’s all he needs. If he hears you, he’ll fight. Please!”

But Evelyn couldn’t speak.

She hated Charles.

Hated him with a fury that never dulled.

From the moment Charlie’s small body went cold in her arms.

From the moment she learned that, directly or not, it was Charles who’d cost their daughter her life. That hatred had frozen inside her, a jagged block of ice wedged deep in her chest, gnawing away in the dark, year after year.

She remembered every time he’d shielded Dahlia, every time he’d made her helpless to seek justice for their daughter.

She had cursed him—truly wished him gone from this world.

And yet…

Her eyes drifted back to his deathly white face. The man she’d once loved beyond reason. The man she’d later wanted to rip apart with her bare hands.

Evelyn’s fists clenched at her sides so tightly her nails dug deep, sharp into her palms, but she didn’t even flinch.

In her mind, she saw Charlie’s sleeping face—pale, peaceful, heartbreakingly sweet.

Charlie was still with her.

Charlie needed her dad.

Evelyn’s voice cut through the fog, razor-sharp.

And as she spoke, Charles heard her. Or maybe just the echo of her words. Telling him to atone, to live, to make things right.

Something flickered in the battered shell of his body—a stubborn spark.

He couldn’t die.

He hadn’t earned Evelyn and Charlie’s forgiveness.

He hadn’t heard Charlie call him “Dad” again.

He hadn’t told them—really told them—how much he loved them.

Beep… beep…

On the cardiac monitor, the flat, faltering line suddenly jerked—a feeble, miraculous peak.

And then another.

Still faint, still fragile, but fighting—refusing to quit.

“There’s a heartbeat! Adrenaline! Keep his blood pressure steady! Watch his O2!”