“Congratulations on your wedding, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. Or maybe I only think I do.
The hallway is so damn quiet.
Just the buzz of distant machines and the hollow beat of my heart.
He’s alive. For now.
And somewhere behind those doors, my husband—the man I love with a terrifying, all-consuming kind of devotion—he’s fighting to come back.
Alice and my father arrive a few hours later. Their voices echo in the corridor, familiar and warm, but I can’t focus. The noise of the world feels muffled. Like I’m submerged underwater—floating somewhere between panic and hope.
I’m clutching a styrofoam cup of tea so bitter it turns my stomach, but I drink it anyway. Something to do. Something to hold. Something to keep me tethered to this reality I hate.
My father sits quietly at first, but I can feel him watching me. Judging my exhaustion, the tension in my shoulders, the way I stare at the wall like it holds all the answers.
Then he finally speaks.
“Go rest, Isabel. We’ll stay here.”
I snap.
“No!”
The word is sharp—final—as I hurl the cup into the plastic bin. The tea splashes, staining the inside like the mess in my chest. My feet carry me toward Nate’s room, the hallway blurring around me.
“Isabel, be reasonable,” my father says, his voice gentle but firm. “He’s resting. The hospital will call us if anything changes.”
I whirl around, heels clacking against the floor, nearly slipping.
“He’s my husband, Dad! And I’ll be damned if I leave this hospital while he’s in that bed!”
My voice cracks on the last word, and I feel my throat burning, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
My place is here. With him.
Alice steps in gently, knocking once before entering with a bag clutched in her hand.
“Izzy,” she says softly, “I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you’d want to stay with him.”
My defenses fall just a little.
“Thanks, Alice. You’re a sweetheart.” My voice trembles despite the words.
She walks up to me and pulls me into a tight hug, and for a second I let myself lean on her, if only to stay standing.
“If you need anything, call me,” she whispers. “I’ll bring you food and more clothes during the day. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in a real bed?”
I shake my head.
“My place is next to him, Alice.”
She brushes a strand of hair from my face like she used to, before turning to go. “All right, honey. We’ll be back later.”
The door clicks softly behind her, and I’m alone again.
I go to the bathroom and strip away the shell of who I’ve been pretending to be these last hours—the wrinkled dress, the smeared makeup, the heels that make my feet ache. I pull on the sweatshirt and leggings Alice brought and lace up my sneakers. For the first time today, I feel like a person. A real one. Not a porcelain figure trying not to break.
