This was true now.
I sat there in the dark with my eyes on the sliding hospital doors, close enough to come if she called and far enough, I hoped, not to become one more pressure leaning against her on a night that already asked too much.
If Hoka or my father found out, I would hear about it. If Olivero found out, I would hear about it more.
I accepted all of that.
Because however irrational it may have been, sitting uselessly in a hotel room while Emily faced this alone felt worse than sitting in a parking lot like a man one poor decision away from proving every point my uncle had made earlier.
So I waited.
And if that was weakness, obsession, or love in one of its less dignified forms, then so be it.
It made no difference, of course. She texted me updates, short and uneven and clearly written with shaking hands.
They’ve taken her in.
Still waiting.
No news yet.
I read every word too quickly and answered more carefully than I felt, forcing myself to stay measured for her sake when what I wanted was to tear the walls apart stone by stone until the surgery was over and she was safe again.
Then, nearly an hour later, the text I had half expected and fully dreaded finally came.
She’s still in surgery. I wish you were here.
I stared at the words for one suspended second.
Then I replied.
I am here.
Three dots appeared almost instantly, disappeared, then came back.
I know, but I meant close. At the hospital. With me.
I looked up through the rain-streaked windshield toward the glowing entrance and typed back at once.
I’m in the hospital parking lot. Dark green car. Sixth spot from the main doors.
There was no reply.
Five minutes later she was outside.
Even through the rain I could see the frantic way she looked around, shoulders tight, hair already damp, her whole body strained with the kind of contained panic that made my chest hurt just to witness it. I flashed the headlights once.
Her head snapped toward me then she ran.
I was out of the car before she reached it, opening the passenger-side door just as she got there, breathless and wet from the rain and looking at me like she still couldn’t quite believe I was real.
“You’re here,” she breathed.
Not a question. Not really.
Just wonder and exhaustion and relief all tangled together into two small words.
I reached for her immediately, one hand cupping the back of her neck, the other catching her elbow to steady her as she stumbled into me.
