My fingers twitched against the sheet, reaching for him—for something solid, something real—but I curled them before they found him. Because if he kept showing up like this, fixing things, taking care of me like I still mattered, I didn’t know how I’d ever be ready for the moment he decided I didn’t.
Chapter 21
What Comes After
ADRIAN
The smell of burned coffee hit the moment the elevator doors opened. For once, I didn’t mind it. Anything was better than the smell of the ICU.
I told Eli I was running downstairs for caffeine, but the truth was, I needed air. Needed to move. I needed something to do with my hands—press the elevator button, reach for my badge, count the seconds between floors—anything to stop myself from unraveling.
The cafeteria looked the same as it had a hundred shifts ago: a lack of natural lighting, gray tables and chairs, and way too many food choices. I caught my reflection in the pastry case glass—same frazzled hair sticking on end, same hollow eyes. But this time, I wasn’t the doctor on duty. I was the one waiting.
“Adrian?”
I turned, half-expecting I’d imagined it, but there stood Dr.Lang, a pulmonologist from my old team. She looked startled to see me, as if she’d stumbled upon a ghost in daylight.
“Jesus, it really is you,” she said, smiling faintly. “I heard about Eli. How’s he doing?”
I opened my mouth, but the words stuck.How is he doing?I’d answered that question for families a hundred times. Always with clean detachment, an even tone, and a certainty that allowed families to breathe again. But now, nothing about it felt familiar. This time, the clinical language refused to come.
“He’s… stable,” I managed. “The swelling’s down. Scans look good. He’ll recover with time.”
Lang nodded, relief softening her face. “Good. I’m glad. I can’t imagine what the last week’s been like for you. You holding up?”
I gave a shrug that wasn’t quite a lie.
Her tone shifted to professional. “Are you planning to come back soon? We could use an extra set of hands.”
The question made my stomach churn. Return. To the hospital. To rounds. To a version of myself that didn’t orbit Eli’s heart monitor.
“I don’t know.” The words tumbled out too quickly. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
And that was the truth. I hadn’t thought about anything except Eli’s next breath, the next scan, the next fragile inch toward consciousness.
“When you’re ready,” Dr. Lang finished before getting in line to check out.
I stood there longer than I should’ve, listening to pieces of conversation around me. People coming and going, greetingeach other, reviewing notes. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t miss my old life. I missedbelievingI could fix things. Back then, if I worked hard enough, stayed alert enough, I could keep a heart beating.
Now, no matter how many forms I filled out or appointments I scheduled, I couldn’t guarantee anything.
Not his recovery.
Not us.
Not the way he’d looked at me this morning, equal parts hope and hurt.
A pager buzzed, and I automatically reached for it, only for my hand to come out of my pocket empty. It wasn’t mine. I didn’t even have the damn thing on me. It belonged to someone else, some other doctor or administrator. Just a vibration from a life that didn’t quite fit anymore.
The elevator ride back up felt longer than before. I stared at the two paper cups in my hands—one for me, one for Eli, though he couldn’t drink it yet. Habit, maybe. Or a peace offering?
When I stepped into his room again, he was asleep. The monitors blinked in a soft rhythm, and something inside me unclenched just enough to let the exhaustion in. I set the coffee down, checked the lines, and adjusted the blanket. Small things. Things I could control.
Then I saw the tablet sitting on the counter. I read over the notes I’d taken these past few days. The circled parts where I’d scheduled appointments for him, and the underlined parts, where I’d added my own observations. Even the scribbles in themargins, where I vowed not to give up, to keep pushing, keep hoping, to keep showing up.
I meant every word. I had to. Because if I didn’t take charge, I’d come apart. I’d already failed him once—missed too many nights, too many dinners, too many years of pretending duty was the same as love. I couldn’t fail him now. Not when there was something to do.
I grabbed the tablet and started typing before my mind could unravel again—specialist referrals, follow-up imaging, prescriptions, transportation logistics. My fingers moved on autopilot from years of trauma response. Keep the system moving. Stay in control. Don’t feel. But this wasn’t the ER. This was Eli.
