Lynda hadn’t emerged from Matt’s room in over an hour.
Susan rubbed her temples, fighting the headache that had been building since dawn. When Isabel and Kathleen had suggested that only one person stay with Lynda at the hospital today, she’d volunteered immediately. Too many visitors crowding the waiting area would create additional stress during what was already an agonizing situation. But now, surrounded by Matt’s family while Lynda kept vigil beside his bed, Susan wondered if she’d made the right decision.
“Mrs. Timms?” Ethan looked up from his coloring book, his dark eyes serious beyond his years. “Is Grandpa going to wake up today?”
Susan met the boy’s gaze. “The doctors are working hard to help him,” she said carefully. “He isn’t being given anything to keep him asleep, so his body can start waking up on its own. But we don’t know when that will happen.”
“My mom says sometimes we need extra time to heal,” Lily added, selecting a green crayon. “Like when I had my tonsils out. I felt yucky for a long time.”
“That’s true.” Susan managed a genuine smile. “Your grandpa was badly injured in the accident. It will take him a long time to feel better, too.”
Mark cleared his throat, drawing Susan’s attention. “We appreciate your being here. It helps to know Lynda has friends who are looking after her.”
“Your family’s been wonderful, too,” Susan replied. “When Stephanie called Lynda that first night, it meant she could go straight to the hospital and be there for Matt.”
“Dad would do the same for any of us.” Stephanie’s voice was steady, but Susan noticed how tightly she gripped her husband’s hand. “He’s always been the person who shows up when people need him. It’s time for us to show up for him.”
The automatic doors whooshed open, and Dr. Davies, Matt’s neurologist, stepped into the waiting area. Everyone straightened instantly. Stephanie rose from her chair, gathering her children close.
“I’m heading in to re-examine Matt now,” Dr. Davies said. His expression was neutral in that careful way doctors had when they didn’t want to raise false hope. “We’ve reduced the sedation significantly over the last six hours. His brain activity looks promising, but I want to check his reflexes and response to stimuli.”
“Can we see him?” Stephanie asked, already moving toward the ICU doors.
Dr. Davies held up a hand. “Let me do my assessment first. Lynda is with him, and I don’t want to overwhelm him if he does start responding. Give me twenty minutes, and then I’ll come back with an update.”
After he disappeared through the double doors, silence settled over the waiting area like snow. Susan checked her phone for the hundredth time. Paul had texted earlier asking if she needed anything. Isabel had sent photos of the Christmas decorations at the Welcome Center, trying to provide some normalcy. Kathleen’s message simply said, “Praying.”
“I keep thinking about Thanksgiving,” Stephanie said suddenly. “Dad was so happy. He kept talking about the wedding, about their plans for the house. He told me Lynda made him feel like himself again.”
“Mom said the same thing about your father.” Amy said softly. “She told me Matt reminded her what it felt like to be seen, really seen, for who she is.”
Susan’s throat tightened. That’s what she’d been feeling with Paul—that sense of being truly known and accepted. Matt’s accident had made her realize how easily it could all vanish, how quickly joy could transform into grief.
The minutes crawled by. Ethan abandoned his coloring book and pressed his face against the window, watching snow fall across the parking lot. Lily dozed against her mother’s shoulder. Mark stepped outside to make phone calls to family back home. Amy sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the ICU doors.
Susan silently bargained with whatever forces might be listening. Let Matt wake up. Let him be okay. Let Lynda have the future she’d been brave enough to reach for.
Her phone buzzed. It was Paul. Thinking about you. The kitchen feels empty without you here.
She typed back quickly: Still waiting. No news yet.
His response came immediately: Call me if you need to talk. I’m here.
Three simple words that meant more than he probably realized. I’m here. That’s what Matt had been for Lynda—someone who was simply there, present and solid and reliable. That’s what Paul was becoming for her.
If Matt woke up.
No, not if. When.
Susan refused to let herself think otherwise.
The ICU doors swung open, and Lynda emerged, followed by Dr. Davies. Stephanie jumped to her feet so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. Amy and Susan moved forward, forming a tight semicircle around them.
Lynda’s eyes were red-rimmed but bright. She was smiling.
“He squeezed my hand,” she said, her voice breaking. “Dr. Davies was doing the exam, and I was talking to him like I have been, and his fingers moved. He squeezed my hand.”
Stephanie pressed both hands to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Amy let out a sob of relief. Even the children seemed to understand that something important had happened.
