Each memory fueled me, pushed against the weight of the darkness pressing in. I wanted more. Ineededmore.
I’ll fight for us.For the way you looked at me when you said your vows. For the mornings we didn’t speak but still reached for each other anyway. For the promises we broke and the ones we can still keep.
The dark shivered. The air hummed. His voice broke again, raw and shaky, carrying every fear he refused to show the world.
“I can’t lose you.”
I let the thought hammer through me, felt the current under my skin, and sent my own back in return.
You won’t,I whispered, though I didn’t know if it reached him.I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. Not again. Not ever.
A flutter, a stutter in my chest. My pulse. A spark. Tiny, barely there, but unmistakable. I clung to the lifeline, letting it swell with memories and promises, letting it fight for me when my body couldn’t.
Somewhere far above the fog, I imagined Adrian noticing, the tension in his shoulders releasing just a fraction, the hope in his eyes blooming. I felt the thread tighten between us, a line connecting our hearts, unbroken, unyielding.
The fog shifted. The hum of the ventilator, the beeps of the monitor, the faint scrape of shoes on tile—each sound sharpened, bleeding color back into the world. My fingers twitched beneath Adrian’s hand. My eyelids fluttered.
I felt his pull again, stronger, undeniable. His touch bound me to him, to life, to a world I was desperately trying to find my way back to.
The darkness pressed in one last time. Then, like film burning through a final frame, light flooded in.
And I ran toward it. Towardhim. Toward life. Toward us.
I’m here. I’m not leaving. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 13
Promises
ADRIAN
I’d spent the last few hours sitting beside Eli’s bed, hands clenched over the edge of his blanket, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. The monitors kept their endless vigil. Each beep was a lifeline and a punishment.
I thought I’d built a good life for us. A life that was safe, comfortable, and controlled. But staring at him now, motionless, pale, caught in a purgatory I couldn’t reach, I saw it for what it really was.
I’d spent years pretending I knew what was best for him. Pretending every decision I made—every late night, the new house, staycations instead of vacations—was forus. Forhim.
But it wasn’t.
It was for me.
To quiet the guilt that came from always being gone, always putting something else first, convincing myself that providing was the same thing as loving.
My throat tightened.
He’d tried to tell me. God, he’d tried so many times.
The house was proof enough of that.
I remembered the day we found the bright, modern two-story with its sleek white walls and glass stair railings. It had looked expensive, impressive, the kind of house you were supposed to buy when you’d “made it.”
I thought Eli would love it. I thought he’d see it as a promise.
Instead, he stood in the doorway, quiet for a long time before saying, “It’s beautiful, Adrian. But it doesn’t feel like us.”
I’d laughed, brushing it off. “You’ll see once we move in. It’s a fresh start.”
He’d frowned, looking at the wide, echoing space. “I liked the little blue one. The one with the crooked porch.”
