“She’s leaving in two weeks. Moving across town, selling her grandmother’s house, starting over somewhere that doesn’tinclude me.” I lean back in the uncomfortable hospital chair. “And I can’t even blame her. I’ve been an idiot, Amy. A complete idiot.”
The machines continue their steady chorus, monitoring every breath, every heartbeat, keeping Amy stable while I fall apart beside her.
“I thought I was protecting us both by keeping things professional. Thought I was being smart, avoiding complications.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Turns out I was just being scared. Scared of feeling something real; scared of risking what we had for what we could have.”
A nurse walks by in the hallway, reminding me that I’m surrounded by people whose lives have been turned upside down by circumstances beyond their control. Like Amy. Like me, five weeks ago when I first brought Henry home.
“The thing is, I know I love her. I think I’ve been in love with her for weeks, and I was too much of a coward to admit it.” The confession comes easier here, in this room where secrets feel safer. “And not just her. Ash too. That kid has gotten under my skin in the best possible way. And Henry… God, Amy, Henry is amazing. I would die for him; I hope you believe that. I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with him before your accident. I…” My throat feels too thick to go on.
I think about last night, the careful way Alexa stood in my house, the formal resignation letter, the professional distance she maintained even while breaking both our hearts.
“But I waited too long. I pushed her away for so long that she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Can you blameher?” I shake my head. “I’ve been treating her like an employee when she should have been… when she could have been family.”
Family. The word hits hard.
“You know what’s funny? I spent all those years in that group home learning that family was something that happened to other people. That love was temporary, that caring about someone just gave them more power to leave.” I study Amy’s face, looking for any sign that she can hear me. “But watching Alexa with Ash, seeing how she’s been with Henry, being part of their world for these few weeks… I finally understood what family really means.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. I learned what family could be just in time to lose it.
“It’s not about biology or perfect timing or even being related. It’s about showing up. It’s about choosing to love someone every day, even when it’s hard.Especiallywhen it’s hard.” My voice cracks slightly. “And I didn’t show up, Amy. When it mattered most, I hid instead of fighting for what we could have built together.”
I sit in silence for a moment, listening to the steady beeping of monitors, the distant sounds of hospital life continuing around us.
“I don’t even know how to fix this. She’s made up her mind, and I can’t blame her. Why would she want to be with someone who took this long to figure out what should have been obvious from the start?” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I love her, Amy. I love them all, and I think it’s too late to do anything about it.”
That’s when I see it. A small movement, so subtle I almost miss it. Amy’s fingers twitch against the hospital blanket.
I freeze, staring at her hand, wondering if I imagined it. Then it happens again. A definite movement, deliberate and real.
“Amy?” I reach for her hand, and this time I feel it—the slightest pressure, like she’s trying to squeeze back. “Amy, can you hear me?”
Her eyelids flutter. Just for a second, but it’s unmistakable.
My heart pounds as I reach for the call button, pressing it repeatedly while keeping my eyes fixed on Amy’s face.
“I need a doctor in here,” I call out to anyone who might be listening. “Something’s happening.”
Dr. Rockaway appears in the doorway within seconds, followed by two nurses. They move with practiced efficiency, checking monitors, examining Amy’s responses, asking questions I can barely process.
“When did the movement start?” Dr. Rockaway asks, shining a penlight into Amy’s eyes.
“Just now. Her fingers moved, and her eyelids fluttered. She seemed to respond when I spoke to her.”
“We need to run some tests. Jordan, I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside while we examine her.”
“But she’s waking up, right? This is good news?”
“It’s very encouraging. But we need to be thorough. Please, just give us some time to assess her properly.”
I find myself in the hallway, pacing between the nurses’ station and the vending machines while voices drift from Amy’s room.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, praying for, bargaining with the universe for. Amy is waking up.
Maybe.
Unless the opposite is about to happen, and her coma will end, along with her life.
An hour passes. The longest hour of my life, filled with sounds from Amy’s room that I can’t interpret and a growing certainty that everything is about to change.
