25. Buster

TWENTY-FIVE

Buster

5:54 am

An unidentifiable noise rouses me, and my eyes slowly adjust to the soft light filtering through Cole's bedroom window. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and the events of the past few days rush back like a tidal wave: Madeline, the hospital, Cole's revelation.

Instinctively, I reach out, expecting to feel Cole's warmth beside me. My hand finds only empty space, still holding a trace of her body heat. She must have just gotten up.

I glance at my watch on the nightstand. It's later than I usually wake, but I'm grateful for the extra rest. This week, my staff has rescheduled or reassigned all my surgeries. I need to be here and fully present for Cole and Madeline, at least until we have a concrete plan.

Sitting up, I run my hand over my face, trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. The weight of everything—Madeline's diagnosis, the possibility that I'm her father—settles on my chest more palpable and heavy than a physical cement block.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor. The apartment is quiet, almost unnaturally so. Where's Cole?

Standing, I stretch, feeling the pull of muscles that have been too tense for too long.

As I approach the kitchen, I hear it—a muffled sob that stops me dead in my tracks. My heart clenches painfully in my chest, a sudden wave of concern washing over me. Cole.

The sound is unmistakable, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. I've never heard her cry before, not even during our most tense moments. She has shed tears. I've seen her red-rimmed eyes. But I've never heard her so unencumbered. She's always been so strong, so composed.

Hearing her vulnerability now makes me feel both protective and somehow intrusive as if I'm witnessing something I shouldn't. I hesitate, unsure whether to announce my presence or give her a moment to collect herself.

I pause at the threshold, giving her this private moment of grief. But the sound of her pain draws me forward like a magnet.

When I step into the kitchen, my heart aches at the sight of Cole huddled on the floor. Her red and puffy eyes catch mine as she notices my presence. She quickly wipes her face, trying to compose herself.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," she says, her voice hoarse from crying.

I shake my head, approaching her slowly. Kneeling beside her, I gently brush away a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "Cole, you have nothing to apologize for," I say softly.

Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of pain and vulnerability that makes my chest tighten. I take her hand in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I want you to feel comfortable to say and do whatever you need," I continue, my voice low and steady. "This is...it's a lot. For both of us. But especially for you."

I pause, searching for the right words. "I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to protect you and Maddie. We're going to make sure she gets the absolute best care possible. I've already reached out to some colleagues and specialists in pediatric oncology. You're not in this alone."

Cole's breath hitches, and I see fresh tears forming in her eyes. Without hesitation, I pull her into my arms, holding her close. She buries her face in my chest, her body shaking with silent sobs.

"I'm here," I whisper, stroking her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

6:45 am

I step into my apartment, the weight of the past few days settling heavily on my shoulders. As I strip off my clothes and turn on the shower, my mind races with everything that's happened.

Cole is cleaning up and packing a bag of things to take back to the hospital, and we will head back together shortly. It hits me: Mr. Snuggles. I grab my phone and text Cole.

Don't forget Mr. Snuggles!

I saw how much Maddie loves that bunny. If it even brings her some comfort, she needs him.

We won't have a definitive word back on whether Cole or I are matches for at least a week. I encouraged Cole to reach out to Steele, as well. The more possibilities, the better. She assured me she would call him this morning.

The hot water cascades over me, and I close my eyes, letting out a long breath. All of the details and questions swirl in my head, and I continue to go over them, wanting to be sure I think of everything.

As I stand here, letting the water wash over me, I make a decision. The question of whether Maddie is my daughter or not has to take a backseat right now.

That isn't my main concern at this moment. What matters most is finding her a donor and getting her healthy again. That's where I need to focus my energy.

I think about Cole, about the pain and fear in her eyes. The initial anger I felt when she told me about her suspicions has already faded. When she says she didn't know sooner, I believe she was processing her hunch. There is no way I can blame her for that.

If I'm honest with myself, I might have done the same in her position.

She's been carrying this weight alone, and now we're in this together. Whatever the outcome of the paternity test, what matters is that we're both here for Maddie now and that I support Cole in any way I can.

I step out of the shower, feeling clearer and more focused. There's a long road ahead, but I'm committed to seeing it through. For Maddie, for Cole, and for whatever future we might have together.

7:37 am

I walk into the hospital with Cole, my hand on the small of her back, offering silent support. As we approach Maddie's room, I notice three of my colleagues already inside, deep in discussion. As we enter, Dr. Bellinger, Dr. Leek Patel, and Dr. Kim Nguyen turn to greet us.

"Buster, glad you're here," Bellinger says, his face serious.

I nod, stepping forward. "What's the latest?"

Leek speaks up. "We've been reviewing Maddie's case. The genetic markers are concerning, but we're developing a comprehensive treatment plan."

I listen intently as they catch me up on their thoughts. They've been considering various approaches, weighing the risks and benefits of each option.

"Let's step out and discuss this further," I suggest, glancing at Cole. "Cole, would you like to join us?"

She nods her face a mixture of fear and determination. We file out of the room, leaving Maddie sleeping peacefully for the moment.

In the hallway, Dr. Nguyen pulls up some charts on her tablet. "We're looking at a few different protocols," she explains. "Given the aggressive nature of Maddie's AML, we need to act quickly."

I lean in, studying the data. "What about the latest immunotherapy trials? I've seen promising results in similar cases."

Bellinger nods. "We've considered that. It's definitely on the table, but we must weigh it against more traditional approaches."

I can see Cole trying to follow along as we discuss the options. I occasionally pause to explain things in simpler terms, ensuring she's included in the conversation.

"The bone marrow transplant is still our best shot," Dr. Patel adds. "Have we heard back about potential donors yet?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. We're still waiting on the results for Cole and me. And Cole's reaching out to Maddie's...to her possible father, Steele, today. The hope is he will come in to give a sample for comparison."

While I walk with the doctors, Cole returns to the room to be with Maddie and talk to Liesle. I want to press a little more and go through the comprehensive plan one more time.

I stand in the small conference room, a sense of urgency tightening my chest as I face Jonah Bellinger, Leek, and Kim. Maddie's diagnosis hangs heavy in the air.

Jonah speaks first, his tone measured. "We've confirmed Maddie has AML with high-risk genetic markers. Given her aggressive form of leukemia, our best option is a stem cell transplant. But finding a donor match is critical and time-sensitive."

Leek, always methodical, nods. "The initial HLA typing results should be back within a week. If we find a potential match among immediate family members, we can proceed with high-resolution typing, which will take another one to two weeks."

Kim, the calm voice of reason, adds, "During this time, we must keep Maddie stable and as healthy as possible. Supportive care will be crucial."

I interject, needing to comprehend fully. "What exactly does her supportive care entail? How do we ensure she stays strong enough for the transplant?"

Jonah replies, "We will manage her symptoms and prevent complications while we buy some time. We'll need to give her regular blood and platelet transfusions to manage anemia and prevent bleeding. We'll also use prophylactic antibiotics to prevent infections, as her immune system is compromised."

Kim steps forward, her eyes meeting mine with a determined gaze. "Buster, we must stress that while supportive care is essential, the transplant remains our best course of action. We have other treatment options, such as targeted therapies or clinical trials, but these are secondary. The stem cell transplant offers the best chance for a cure."

Jonah nods in agreement. "Exactly. We'll prepare for the transplant and proceed with high-resolution typing as soon as we get potential matches. We'll move to the national bone marrow registry if we don't find a match within the family. That could take a few more weeks, but we'll be thorough."

Leek adds, "While we wait, we'll monitor her closely. If her condition worsens, we can start a low dose of chemotherapy to keep the leukemia at bay without compromising her eligibility for the transplant."

Kim speaks again, her voice firm. "We'll wait for the first round of possible matches before considering other treatments. This is the best way forward. We need to give the transplant the best possible chance to succeed."

I nod, absorbing their words. "So, we have about three to four weeks of waiting and managing her condition?"

"Correct," Jonah confirms. "We'll use that time to keep her stable and prepare for the transplant. We'll need your help to ensure she stays positive and strong through this."

My mind races, but I know this is the best plan. "I'll do whatever it takes. Consider me part of the team; I can be a liaison with the family since we have that relationship. I will stay out of your way, but let me know how and where I can help. I will do whatever I can. Let's get this done."

The doctors nod in unison, a shared determination filling the room. We have a plan, and now it's time to execute it. For Maddie, for Cole, and for the future we all desperately hope for.

Friday, August 30

2:19 pm

I step out of surgery. My entire body is still tingling from the precise movements I've just performed. My normal ability to shut everything out while in surgery has been challenged like never before these last several days, and I am on edge about everything to do with Madeline.

With trembling fingers, I reach for my phone, my heart racing, never sure what I might find when I've been away from it.

There it is—a message from Kim Nguyen.

I'm a match for Maddie.

The world around me blurs. The bustling hospital corridor fades away, and I'm left standing in a bubble of surreal stillness. My extremities go numb, and I have to lean against the wall to steady myself.

I'm a match. Which I also realize means that I am likely her father.

The certainty of it hits me like a physical blow. I've known it was a possibility, but now...now it's real. Tangible. Undeniable.

My breath comes in short, sharp bursts. I'm a surgeon, trained to remain calm in the most intense situations, but this—this is beyond anything I've ever experienced. Joy, fear, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility crash over me in waves.

I look down at my hands, which have saved countless lives, and realize they're shaking. These hands will now save my daughter's life. My daughter. The words echo in my mind, foreign yet achingly familiar.

I close my eyes, trying to center myself. The corridor slowly comes back into focus, the sounds of the hospital filtering back in. But I'm changed. At this moment, I'm no longer just Dr. Buster Hankel, surgeon. I'm a father. Maddie's father.

With a deep breath, I push off the wall. I need to find Cole. We have a future to fight for.