The air was sharp and dry, the kind that burned when you breathed too deeply. I walked a little slower this time, matching her pace, making sure she didn’t have to rush.
Because I knew.
Every step she took brought us closer to the hospital, closer to her freedom from the thing I broke, from the reason she ever stayed. And closer to the end of my pretending I didn’t need her here.
When we reached the car, I opened the door for her, as I always did now. Her cast arm brushed against my sleeve as she got in, and it felt heavier than it should have.
Once I sat behind the wheel, I just stared at the road for a moment. Engine humming. Silence stretching. Her soft breathing next to me.
Cast off means you’ll walk away.
Cast off means I lose you.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I decided to wait in the car while she went inside.
Engine off. Hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles burned white.
Through the windshield, I could see the front of the hospital, glass doors sliding open and shut every few seconds. People walking out bandaged, limping, healed, hurting.
And I just sat there, waiting.
For her.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Relief? Because she was finally okay? Or dread becauseokaymeant she didn’t need to stay anymore.
The minutes crawled.
Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
And then she came out.
No cast. Her arm looked smaller now, pale from the weeks under plaster, her fingers twitching gently as if they didn’t quite remember what to do yet.
She looked fragile, but free.
That was it.
She was healed.
Fixed. I was out of excuses to keep her.
I got out of the car before she could spot me just sitting there like a coward and walked around to open the door for her.
She blinked, a little surprised, and gave a small nod before getting in.
When I sat back behind the wheel, the car filled with silence again. The kind of silence that wasn’t heavy anymore, just…waiting.
“Everything okay?” I asked finally, keeping my eyes on the road as I started the engine.
She nodded, flexing her fingers in her lap. “Yeah.”
Her voice was soft. Quiet. But it was the wordyeahthat broke me a little.
It was too final.
I drove.
