For a moment, it almost felt like the life we used to have was waiting somewhere in the quiet, just out of reach.
Eli’s breathing evened out after a while. The quiet rise and fall of his chest filled the room.
I sat there longer than I needed to, waiting for the tremor in my hands to fade. He’d fallen asleep half-propped on the pillows, his wedding band catching the faint light from the hallway. The thin circle looked loose around his finger, as if it didn’t quite belong anymore. I reached for it—just to turn it, to feel its weight—but stopped halfway.
Not yet.
Not until I’ve shown him what I promised. Not until he was happy and healthy and certain about the life we were rebuilding.
I let my hand fall back to my side and stayed there a moment longer, watching him breathe.
I stood, the bed creaking softly, and moved through the house. The place was quiet without Eli’s presence and vitality. My footsteps echoed in the stillness.
In the kitchen, I opened a cabinet without thinking—just needing something to do with my hands. That’s when I saw it. The old Halloween bowl tucked on the top shelf. Eli refused to replace the chipped ceramic pumpkin, claiming it had ‘character.’
I pulled it down, turning it over in my hands as I remembered that night again.
Eli had worn that ridiculous witch’s hat he’d found at the dollar store, pretending to cast spells on anyone who asked forextra chocolate. He’d laughed so hard he could barely get the words out. I could still hear it.
I set the bowl on the counter, staring at it.
When had I stopped choosing that version of us?
When had work started taking more than it gave back?
The question settled heavily in my chest. What if nothing had happened? Would I have kept going like that—always late, always missing him by inches?
Eli had been the love of my life since the day he spilled coffee all over my sleeve in the campus café, flustered and apologizing while I just stood there, struck dumb by his smile. There would never be anyone else for me. I knew it then. I know it now.
So why had I wasted the time we had?
Why had I let the noise of ambition and exhaustion drown out the quiet, simple life he’d been trying to build with me?
The microwave clock blinked past dinnertime, but I had no appetite. I stood there, hands braced on the counter, letting the quiet press in. Then I pushed away and headed back down the hall.
Eli was still asleep when I eased the door open. The lamp cast a soft glow across the room, turning the medical tape on his chest into pale ribbons of light. His breathing was shallow but measured. As though he was fighting not to wake.
I pulled a chair closer to the bed, the same way I had in the hospital. I checked his vitals out of habit, watched the slow pulse at his throat, the rise and fall of his chest. I told myself it was clinical. Necessary.
It wasn’t.
He shifted in his sleep, face tightening for a secondbefore easing again. I stayed there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing until it lulled me too.
At some point, the mattress creaked. A whisper of movement.
“Adrian?” His voice was rough, thinned by sleep and pain.
I blinked awake to find him half-turned toward me, hand searching blindly across the sheet. The lamplight caught on the faint tremor of his fingers.
“Hey,” I murmured, leaning forward. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t,” he sighed, eyes barely open. “You’re too far away.”
My throat tightened. “You need to rest, Eli.”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “Then stop making me reach for you.”
Damn, I needed to hear that. Quietly, I slid onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle his healing ribs. He shifted enough to let me settle beside him, his palm finding my chest like it always did, right over my heart, as if he needed proof.
