“Angel,” he cuts in gently, tilting my chin so I have to meet his eyes. “I know. Itrust you. And I love you. So much. You don’t need to explain.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyes.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
He kisses me softly, his forehead resting against mine. “Go get your closure, baby. I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.”
The drive is quiet. I put on an acoustic playlist—gentle covers of songs I already know by heart—and let the music carry me. My mind drifts to everything Miranda said. About letting go. About how it’s okay to walk away from someone you can’t save. I’m not walking into that hospital out of obligation. I’m walking in because I need to close this chapter. For good.
When I arrive, I park slowly and sit there for a moment, staring at the glass doors of the hospital entrance. Then I take a deep breath and head inside.
Poppy is at the desk, the front of her curly brown hair falling onto her face, barely contained by her ponytail. She’s typing something. When she sees me, she stands, smiling at me.
“Thank you for coming,” she says, her hazel eyes filled with kindness. “He’s been asking for you since he woke up.”
“Is he… okay?”
“He’s weak. Still processing everything. But he’s lucid. And emotional.”
I nod. “I’ll just go in.”
She gestures toward the hallway. “He’s in the same room, numbereight.”
“Thank you.”
As I approach, I already feel the chill in my chest. And then I see Sandra. Sean’s mum. Sitting in the hallway outside his room, arms folded, eyes red. She spots me instantly. Her expression hardens. She doesn’t speak.
“I heard he asked for me,” I say quietly.
After a long pause, she gives a single nod. “Go ahead.”
I push the door open.
Sean is awake, sitting propped up in bed, an oxygen tube still beneath his nose. He looks pale. Smaller. But he’s awake. And when he sees me, his face lights up a bit.
“You’re here,” he says, smiling softly. “They told me you visited.”
I step inside. “I did.”
He blinks fast, tears already building. “Thank you.”
I sit down in the chair beside the bed. The silence between us is heavy, but not bitter. Just… full.
“This is the first time I’ve been sober in months,” he says with a humourless laugh. “It’s weird. Being clear like this.”
I say nothing. Just let him talk.
“I keep thinking over everything.” He looks to the small window, avoiding my gaze. “Every time I hurt you. Every time I chose the drugs. Every time I yelled at you. Every time I called you names. Every time I would punch a wall. I told myself it wasn’t me. But it was.” He shakes his head slowly and looks at me with tears in his eyes. “They changed me. But I let them… it’s like there’s something inside of me that’s broken.” He puts his hand to his chest like he’s in pain, then he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, for everything.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. I don’t stop them.
“This… what happened. It scared me. I thought I was dying. I knew I was.” He swallows hard. “I want to change. I’m going to rehab. And I’m going to see someone. Not just for the drugs, but for this.” He gestures to his chest, his whole body, like he doesn’t know where to start. “For all of it. For the person I’ve been. I don’t like who I’ve become.”
I cry then. Quietly. Because somewhere in that mess, I hear the version of Sean I used to believe in.
“I’m glad you’re getting help,” I say, voice breaking. “I hope you do change, Sean. I want that for you.”
He nods, his eyes shining. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just… I needed you to hear me say it. That I know I fucked up. And I want to do better.” He nods his head, like part of him is still convincing himself he can change. “You probably hate me, you probably think I’m a bad person. You probably won’t ever forgive me and I don’t expect you to.”
