“My daughter tells me everything. She’ll be so proud of you. Now, youdohave to be strong for her, but you also have to prepare yourself for a long road ahead. Can you do that for me?”
“I’m going to do my best,” I promise. “She’s my whole world, and I won’t ever take another second for granted.”
“Good. Now come on, let’s go see our girl.”
The ache is still there, still loud, but I don’t feel hollow like before. I gaze up at the hospital sign as the doors slide open and roll my shoulders, breathing through the fear, through the what-ifs clawing at the back of my mind.
She’s still here. Still fighting.
“Can you explain to me again what’s happening?” I ask quietly as we walk through the halls.
Claire links her arm with mine, slowing her steps. “Of course. You know she hit her head when she fell?”
I nod, my stomach twisting as the image of her slipping, falling, disappearing beneath the water flashes behind my eyes.
“There’s a small fracture in her skull, and some bleeding beneath it. That bleed put pressure on her brain, which is why she needed surgery. To stop it and give her brain room to heal.”
Nausea rolls through me, but I make myself listen.
“She also bruised her lungs when she hit the rocks and the water,” she continues. “That’s why she’s on oxygen and why they’re keeping her asleep for now. Her body needs rest. Her brain needs time to heal.”
“How long?” I ask.
“We’re hoping she wakes sooner than we expect. It could be a few days. Five at the most. Everyone heals differently, so while we hope for the best, we expect the worst.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Cuts, bruises, a broken leg,” she says. “It’ll be painful and frustrating for her when she wakes up. None of that is life-threatening. The head injury is what we’re watching closely. Thankfully, she was pulled from the water quickly and rushed here. The doctors were able to stop the bleed before any serious damage could be done.”
“That’s a lot,” I say, my chest aching.
“It is.” Claire slows, turning to face me. “Are you prepared to go in there? It can be confronting at first. But she’s stable. She’s alive, and she’s strong.” Her gaze softens. “Having you there, talking to her, it’ll help.”
“Y-yes. I swear I’m better today. I’m here for her.”
“Good,” she says quietly. “That’s good.”
With one squeeze of my arm, she lets go and steps inside first.
Cautiously, I follow her.
The lights in here are dimmer than the hallway, morning sun spilling through half-open blinds, casting the room in pale gold. The air smells sharp and clean, disinfectant catching in my nose. Machines hum, and a quiet, steady beep breaks through the heavy silence.
I stop inside the doorway, inhaling sharply.
Clear tubing curves beneath her nose, held in place by a strip of tape against her cheek. Her chest rises and falls gently with the soft hiss of oxygen. A bandage is wrapped around her head, tucked beneath her hair, and one leg is elevated in a cast. Her hands rest loose at her sides, fingers still.
Fuck, I did this.
“Come, sit.” Claire pulls a chair closer to the bed.
Lowering myself onto the chair, my eyes scan her, and my heart cracks. All the tension I’ve been holding finally gives, spilling out in a quiet sob as I reach for her hand, thumb brushing over her soft skin.
Claire’s hand drifts over my back in slow, comforting strokes, grounding me. I let myself lean into it for a few seconds, allowing the ache to settle. She would want me to be strong.
“Can she have flowers in here?” I ask, glancing around the too clinical, too cold room.
She shakes her head, a sad smile tugging at her mouth. “No, not on this ward.”
