I glance up at him, then write on the corner of the page, “I thought the thing I’d miss the most about you would be your hugs or your voice. Both excellent, by the way. But it’s your smile.” I continue reading: “Even now, with all the hurt, she couldn’t deny how much she had loved him. Still loved him. Because Terrence wasn’t just the man she had lost—he was the man who had taught her what it meant to truly let someone in, even if that came at a price. He had shown her the love that terrified her because it forced her to confront parts of herself she’d kept buried for so long.”
Wiping the tears off my face, I make another little note: “You know when I realized I loved you? When you made us breakfast in bed. And lunch. And we ate neither. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you back then, but I was sure of it.”
I set the pen down. “Maybe that was the real heartbreak—not the loss of him but losing what they could have been. The future they could have had. But love, she realized, wasn’t just about holding on. Sometimes it was about knowing when to let go.”
I exhale; then, putting pen to paper, I scribble: “This is some bullshit. I’m not letting you go, now or ever.”
“Well, come on. Keep going.” The pen drops from my hand as I look up at Rafael, eyes barely open and a tired smile on his face. “I’m dying to know if these two end up together.”
I lean against the cold hospital wall, arms crossed tightly over my chest, as I wait for the doctor to finish his visit. My heart races, my stomach churning with a mix of anxiety and hope. He’s awake. Fullyawake. I should feel relief, but all I can feel is more worry. Is he okay? Will he make a full recovery?
The door opens with a quiet click, and I straighten as Dr. Patel steps out into the hallway. His calm expression gives nothing away, but there’s something in his eyes, something that feels like reassurance.
“He’s awake.”
Dr. Patel flips through the pages of Rafael’s chart. “Yes, fully awake and coherent.”
I release a shaky breath, relief flooding through me. But before I can let myself get lost in the joy of it, I ask the question that’s been gnawing at me for days. “How… how is he?”
The doctor glances up at me, his tone steady but gentle. “Considering the trauma he experienced, he’s doing exceptionally well. The head injury is serious, but there are no immediate signs of lasting cognitive damage.”
A wave of gratitude crashes over me, but the way he says “immediate signs” plants a seed of doubt in my mind. “And long-term?” I ask, biting down on my lower lip. “What are we looking at?”
Dr. Patel pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. “Rafael will need time, both for physical healing and for us to fully assess any potential aftereffects. He’ll likely experience some fatigue, maybe some memory lapses or headaches as his brain continues to heal. But from what we’ve seen so far, there’s every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery.”
I blink back tears, the pressure in my chest easing just enough for me to take a breath. “So… he’s going to be okay?”
The doctor writes something down. “Yes. He’ll need rest, rehabilitation, and patience, but he’s on the right path.”
I nod, my eyes stinging. “Thank you.”
He tilts his head. “Scarlett, remember to take care of yourself, too. You’re just as important as anything else in his recovery.”
Right now, I don’t care about anything else. He’s awake. He’s okay.
“You should go in.”
I thank him, slip past him, and push open the door, heart thumping in my chest.
Rafael is propped up against the pillows, his face pale but his eyes sharp, awake, and focused. The sight of him, fully alert and alive, almost undoes me.
“Hey,” I say tentatively.
“Hey,” he rasps. His voice is rough, like gravel, but the familiar warmth in it soothes me like a balm.
I have no idea what to say.How are you?feels ridiculous. He’s awake, yes, but I can’t imagine the pain he must be in, the disorientation he must be experiencing. I wonder if anyone thought to offer him water. He must be thirsty. Or hungry. Do people wake up from comas starving? Should I ask if I can hug him? Or kiss him?
The thoughts pile up and then dissolve into nothing as I take a hesitant step forward. My hands tremble at my sides, and my breath comes in shallow bursts. I’m half afraid this is a dream, a cruel one I’ll wake up from at any moment.
I glance at the tattooed skin peeking from the top of his hospital gown, my gaze trailing to his hand, open at his side with no rings—those are safely stored in the bedside table. Slowly, carefully, I take it in mine.
The second he squeezes back, a sob escapes my throat. He’s awake. He’s really awake. He’s okay.
And I know exactly what I need to say.
“I love you.”
His lips part slightly, and for a second, he just blinks at me. Then a slow, soft smile spreads across his face, like the sun breaking through a cloud.
