Seven days.
Seven excruciating, unbearable, soul-crushing days.
That’s how long I’ve been sitting in this fucking chair, holding her hand, watching her slip further and further away from me. Seven days of waiting, of hoping, of pleading with the universe to give her a break.
She’s worse than we ever imagined she could be.
Her skin has lost its warmth, her body is smaller and more fragile, swallowed by the tangle of wires and tubes literally keeping her alive. The ventilator hums beside her, forcing air into her lungs, and I hate it. I hate every beep of the machines, every shift in the monitors, every sterile, clinical reminder that she is hanging by a thread.
I don’t know how I’m still standing.
I haven’t left this room. I don’t sleep. I barely eat. The others try to make me. Cam brings food when he can, Sophia brings me coffee and pastries from the bakery.
None of it matters.
I don’t need sleep, or food, or anything. I only needher.
I finished reading the book to her yesterday. I read everyword, even when I had to stop to breathe through the ache in my chest. I don’t know if she heard me or if she evencanhear me. But I read anyway, because it’s her favorite. Because that story isours. And because I have nothing else to give her except my voice and my presence and the desperate, broken pieces of myself that are left.
I’ve told her stories. I’ve whispered all the things I never had the guts to say when she was awake—how beautiful she is, how she drives me insane, how she has owned every part of me from the very beginning. I’ve begged her to stay. Pleaded with her to fight.
But the longer she stays like this, the harder it is to believe she’s coming back.
And then, when there is nothing but machines beeping the silence of the night, the door slams open as if finally answering all my prayers.
I jolt upright, my heart lurching as Dr. Rivera storms into the room.
“We found a match!”
I stop breathing. For a full three seconds, my brain refuses to process what he said.
A match.
A new heart.
My lips part, but there are no words.
Dr. Rivera steps closer. “We’re going to prep her for surgery right now.”
A sound rips from my throat, something between a gasp and a sob, and suddenly, I’m shaking. My entire body trembles and my chest heaves with a relief so violent it nearly knocks me to the ground.
“Are—are you serious?” My voice raw from the overwhelming shock.
There is something that resembles pity in his eyes. “Yes. ButAlex, listen to me. It’s a complicated surgery. We can’t make any guarantees. But this is her best shot.”
My stomach twists, the fear creeping back in like poison. “Will she wake up?” I question.
He hesitates.
I fucking hate the hesitation.
“We hope so.” I see the caution in his eyes. “We’ll do everything we can.”
The nurses rush in, moving with purpose, preparing her for what comes next. Everything is happening too fast and I feel helpless.
Lunging forward before they can take her away, I grab her one last time.
“Emma, baby,” I choke out, barely more than a breath. “They found a heart. Do you hear me? You’re getting a new heart.” A tear slips down my cheek, landing on her skin. “I’ll be right here when you wake up. I can’t do this without you. I love you. I love you so much. I need you to come back to me.”
