Still sharp.
But manageable.
I blink slowly, trying to focus.
The room comes into view piece by piece.
White walls.
Machines.
A steady beeping sound.
Hospital.
Memory hits in fragments.
The chair.
The pain.
The voices.
Then—
him.
I turn my head slightly.
It takes more effort than it should.
But I do it anyway.
Russ is right there.
Exactly where I knew he’d be.
Still holding my hand.
Like he never let go.
“Hey,” he says softly.
My throat burns when I try to speak.
“…you stayed…”
The words come out rough.
Barely there.
But he hears them.
Of course he does.
A faint smile pulls at his mouth—but there’s something else there too.
Something deeper.
