I just nod once. Look back down.
Where the fuck is that doctor?
“We, uh…” Griffin starts, voice cautious. “We pulled a woman out of the river earlier. What does your wife look like?”
Shit.
“Thank you,” I murmur, voice hollow. “For saving her.”
Ria’s voice shoots back, thick with disbelief. “Nooooooooooo. That woman is your wife?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t move.
I don’t even breathe.
I tune her out, tune them all out, until the only sound left is the pounding of my heart. I just need the fucking doc to come sooner. I need to see her.
I’ve been sitting in this fucking chair for hours. Hunched forward. Elbows on my knees. Hands twisted together like if I squeeze hard enough, I’ll stop everything from unraveling.
She hasn’t moved. Not once.
She is too pale, her body too still, like Death hasn’t decided to take its claws out of her skin yet. Her chest rises and falls in a slow, shallow rhythm, as if the air itself is struggling to stay inside her.
I keep replaying this morning in my head, over and over. It’s like I’m seeing someone else playing a horror scene in my mind. Like it wasn’t me the one who destroyed her. Like it wasn’t her the one who accepted my fucked up final judgement.
Her feet are torn up, the skin shredded from walking barefoot. There are scratches up her thigh and bruises on her arms, her ribs, her hip. The doc said they’re from the river rocks, the fall. He mentioned them casually, not realizing that every word he spoke was a well-aimed dagger.
And I just sat there, fists clenched, listening to the list of her injuries.
I don’t know what I was hoping for. Some miracle closure? That she’d break like I wanted, and somehow I’d be fine through her destruction?
I’m a fucking idiot.
My heart is in pieces. She gave me what I asked for — her surrender, her end — and it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t bring me peace, it just made the hole inside me deeper. Wider. It swallowed everything good that was still there, and left me with more pain, more darkness, more of everything that hurts.
I need to find a way to get over my bullshit. To heal myself and to also heal her. Again. Because I already healed her some this past year, didn’t I? Only to fuck it all up to the heavens in minutes.
I can only wish, when she wakes up, she’ll be in a moment of clarity. That the shadows I called forth won’t be ruling her mind still.
I shattered her. Fuck, I shattered her. What right do I have to hope she’ll ever let me close a second time?
I don’t. But the hope is still there, twisting like a knife in my gut.
Her eyelids flutter. The shift is small, barely noticeable, but my body goes rigid, every nerve strung tight with anticipation.
Her eyes open — slow, heavy, like it takes effort just to lift them. But they’re open. Hazel and tired and beautiful. And I feel like I can breathe for the first time in hours.
“Adora,” I whisper. Her name slips out before I can stop it.
She turns her head, sluggish, confused. Her brows pull together like even this simple act hurts.
“Wha—” Her voice cracks, dry as dust.
I’m already up, grabbing the water. I hold the straw to her lips, and she sips slowly, weakly. Just a few drops before she leans back, like even that was too much.
I sit again, drop back into the chair and drag a hand down my face. I don’t know where to start.
