Their secretaries and paralegal, and a junior associate who was working on some of their cases, all moved around the office as quietly as they could, devastated by the news. Bernard looked gray as he sat at his desk, alternately crying and staring into space. It was a cruel end for his colleague and dear friend, and even more tragic if her daughter died too, at twenty-two.
The reports on television of the bombings were harrowing, with terrifying photographs of the departures terminal after the two bombs exploded, and the metro station. A third bomb had been found at the airport, which hadn’t detonated. A terrorist group had claimed responsibility for the attack, which was believed to be tied to the November attacks in Paris four months before.
* * *
—
Bernard waited until the next day to go to Brussels, and was only permitted to see Véronique for a few minutes, in the intensive care unit. She was deep in a controlled coma after the surgery. He spoke to the doctor in charge of her care, and was told that her survival was still gravely in question. Her body was still full of shrapnel, some in critical locations. They had removed as much as they could for now, but by no means all. And if she did survive, she would do so with some shrapnel in her body forever. Removing some pieces of it was just too dangerous. She was at risk for losing an eye as well. Bernard saw that her face was heavily bandaged, and the doctor told him that she would need reconstructive surgery for the damage to her face, and she had suffered internal damage to her vital organs as well. He cried again while listening to the doctor, and knew how heartbroken Marie-Helene would have been to know the condition her daughter was in. The doctor estimated that she had a fifteen to twenty percent chance of survival, but was not optimistic. The only thing in her favor was that she had youth on her side, which would help her recover if she survived her injuries. The people who had built the bombs had maximized the damage they would cause to the human body, and had done so very effectively. It was small consolation that the bombers were dead as well.
Véronique was scheduled for another surgery in two days, to continue to remove the shrapnel that was threatening her life. The risk of infection and septicemia from the filth with which the bomb was made was great. The apartment where they had been built had been discovered by then, and the bombs identified as triacetone triperoxide bombs, similar to those in the Paris attacks. The components were all items easily obtained in pharmacies and hardware stores.
Bernard went back to Paris on the train that night, with a heavy heart after what he’d been told. They had promised to call him as soon as they had further news. Once home, he called the hospital every few hours for news of Véronique. She was not expected to regain consciousness for several months, after many additional surgeries. After those to save her major organs, there would be the cosmetic ones. The doctor had said that it would be impossible to determine for some time the degree of visible damage to her face and body, but they expected it to be severe. It was possible that Véronique might be unrecognizable if she survived, even after reconstructive surgery. They had said that they would need photographs of her eventually, if she survived, to replicate her face as closely as they could. But he warned Bernard not to expect a miracle. She would look very different if she survived. Finding photographs of her was the one thing that would be easy. All they had to do was buy any magazine on the stands, and she would be in it. They didn’t sound optimistic about the results they could achieve, given the extensive damage that she had sustained in the blast. She had been standing shockingly close to the bomb when it was detonated.
He lay awake all night and felt sick every time he thought of her. She was so young to be in such a dire situation with so much damage. He realized too that they had not made the connection to who she was, which was just as well. The last thing they needed was to have the press all over her, saying that her face had been destroyed. They had bigger problems on their hands without the press adding more drama for Véronique to have to cope with when she regained consciousness. He just prayed that she would. She was going to have so much to deal with, as well as the heartbreak of losing her mother. Bernard was the executor of Marie-Helene’s estate, all of which had been left to the benefit of her daughter. Véronique would be well cared for forever, but what kind of life would she have now if her face was destroyed? She was such a young, beautiful girl. Véronique had lost her mother and her career in a single instant. Bernard couldn’t imagine it, as he sat awake long into the night, with the tears sliding down his cheeks.