But I still wait.
When he finally falls asleep, I creep into the room. The moonlight casts a silver glow over his face, softening the lines of bitterness and pain. He looks younger in his sleep. More like the man I married. The man who used to hold me so tight I felt stitched to his soul. I sit in the chair by the window, curling my knees to my chest, and I watch him breathe. It’s the only way I can be near him now.
But when he stirs, even slightly, I retreat on silent feet, careful not to draw attention. Because if he wakes and sees me… I don’t know what would hurt more—his silence or another rejection.
The days pass like this.
I haven’t told Sebastian anything. I keep him in the loop with every progress he does but haven’t been that brave to tell him I lied to Nate about my pregnancy. Derek reached out too. He always has, at least two times a month. I didn’t expect it but it’s so amazing to see how a casual encounter became a bond to a new friendship.
Nate walks better. Stronger. He still uses the crutch, but the determination in his movements is undeniable. I watch him during physio, always from behind a corner or through the glass door. Pride swells in my chest, followed quickly by grief. I want to run to him and tell him how incredible he is. How brave. How proud I am to be his wife.
But I stay silent.
And I notice something.
He keeps glancing at the door. Pausing in the middle of his exercises. Searching. Is it me? Please, let it be me. But he never says my name. Never asks.
Maybe he isn’t looking for me at all.
Maybe… maybe I imagined everything. Maybe our whole story was just a beautiful delusion I forced into existence.
I sit with my arms crossed on the back of the waiting room chair, chin resting on them, my eyes locked on him like a secret prayer. I can’t let go, but he’s already slipping through my fingers.
“Hey, Isabel.”
Chris's voice startles me, and I quickly swipe at a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. He follows my gaze and sighs.
“Hi, Chris,” I murmur.
He sits beside me, the scent of his cologne sharp and too strong, making my stomach churn.
“Why don’t you go to him?” he asks, soft but firm.
“It’s complicated,” I say, not looking at him.
Chris raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push. He takes a sip of coffee and the smell hits me hard—acidic and sharp. My stomach revolts.
I bolt to the bathroom.
When I come back, Chris is still there, minus the coffee cup, thank God. But he’s watching me like a hawk.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Just stress. And tiredness. And him.” I jerk my chin toward Nathan, who is now talking with the nurse, completely unaware I’m watching his every move.
Chris leans forward. “Come with me.”
“I can’t leave him alone.”
“It’ll take two minutes. Then you’re free.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Two minutes for what?”
“He’s fine. You’re the one I’m worried about.” He’s already standing, walking toward the lab.
My feet hesitate, but I follow. Maybe because I’m curious. Maybe because I’m just too tired to argue.
Inside, he pulls out a vial and a needle.
