A car rolled to a stop in an empty parking spot. The engine went quiet. A few seconds later, the door opened, and a young woman in her twenties stepped out, dressed in a simple oversized hoodie and black pants.
She closed the door behind her, locked the car, and walked straight toward the hospital's main entrance.
At the nurse station, she gave her name and the reason for her visit — the same routine she had followed for days now. The nurse behind the counter, a woman with kind eyes and a name tag that read Anna, looked up and offered a small, knowing smile.
"Hey, Miss Kinsley. Back again?" she asked gently.
"Hey, Anna…" Raelynn replied. Her voice was soft, and her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
Anna gave her the visitor tag, already prepared in her hand.
"Good luck today," she whispered, as she always did.
And just like always, Raelynn nodded in quiet thanks.
She turned away, her mind already pulling inward, shutting out the world around her. The fluorescent lights above buzzed softly as she moved down the corridor. Her footsteps echoed in the sterile hallway, but she barely registered the sound. The faint scent of antiseptic, the soft voices of nurses behind closed doors — it all blurred together, distant and meaningless.
This walk — from the hospital entrance to Room 405 — had become a ritual.
A cruel one.
She turned the final corner, her eyes landing on the familiar door. She paused for a moment, inhaling slowly, then exhaled as she reached for the handle.
—
Beep… Beep… Beep…
The sound echoed through the small, sterile hospital room.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
Numb.
That's all she had felt for the past few weeks as she sat in the same armchair beside the hospital bed in Room 405.
She played with her fingers — a nervous habit. Her hazel eyes followed the wires from the ventilator, past the IV bag, and onto the heart monitor. Its steady rhythm reassured her that the man lying there was still alive, even if he hadn't moved since the day he was admitted.
Her gaze shifted to the figure on the bed.
His body — broken.
His head was shaved and bandaged, a neck brace carefully in place, his right arm in a cast, his face scattered with bruises and scratches. What little skin she could see under the thin hospital gown and blanket bore the same signs of trauma. Without realizing it, she stopped picking at her fingers and gently reached for his left hand. Her thumb rested just under his pulse point. It beat in sync with the beeping of the monitor — a faint but comforting sign that he was still with her.
She stared at his face, searching for something. A twitch, a flutter of an eyelid — anything. But there was nothing. No change. No sign. Only time moving forward while everything else stood painfully still.
Her grip on his hand tightened. She prayed. Just like she had every single day.
She prayed that today might be the day his grey eyes opened and found hers. That he would smile — even just a little — and that a doctor would walk in and say everything was going to be alright. That he could go home. That this nightmare was just a dream from the exhaustion of sleepless nights.
But she knew better.
And that knowing — that thin, cruel thread of reality — hurt more than any false hope.
Still, she couldn't help but wish. Wish for a miracle — not for her, but for him. Because he was the one truly hurt.
Her hand moved to her face, massaging around her eyes where a dull ache had started to bloom into something sharper.
A migraine. Again.
She hated it — the pounding in her skull, the pressure behind her eyes. It wasn't the worst kind of migraine, but it was enough to make her useless for the rest of the day. Every time it came, she would complain about it to him. And every time, without fail, he'd pull out an ibuprofen.
The first time, she had been stunned by the gesture. Then it happened again. And again — until she stopped counting.
She had once joked, "You're like my personal first-aid kit."
He had just shrugged. "You always complain about how much it hurts but never carry any pills. I figured I should." He had said it so casually — like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
That moment changed something between them. They became closer. But whatever they were, it had never been spoken out loud. She had locked that part away, wrapped in silence, where it felt safe — until now.
She let out a shaky sigh. God, she missed him.
She missed his voice. His rare, crooked smiles. Even the way his eyebrows furrowed in quiet annoyance when someone said something stupid.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips — fragile, fading.
"I miss you," she whispered, both hands now wrapped around his cold one. "I miss the way you always carried those pills for me."
Her head throbbed harder now.
"I miss hanging out — just us and the others. I… I…"
Her words caught in her throat. She swallowed the lump building there and looked at his still, pale face. Her voice cracked as she pleaded:
"Please wake up…"
Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the image of him in front of her. She hunched forward, pressing her forehead against the back of his hand.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
The guilt pressed in with the pain.
"Just… wake up. Please…"
She blinked back the tears, trying to stay strong, but the weight of everything — the silence, the waiting, the ache in her head — pulled her down. Her vision darkened, his face fading from focus.
And then — everything went black.
"Kayden, where are you going?" she asked the moment she saw him heading to the front door. His posture was stiff in his black suit, and he didn't turn around.
Her hazel eyes moved slowly from his shoulders to his hand — the one gripping the doorknob tightly.
"Kayden, is something wrong?"
Silence.
Finally, he turned, but he didn't meet her eyes. He glanced down at the phone in his hand instead. Instinctively, she glanced at it too, trying to understand what had shaken him.
"Kay—"
"Hey... I need to go somewhere for a bit, but I promise I'll be back in time for your wedding, okay?" He said, still not meeting her gaze.
She stared at him, stunned. "But Kayden… You know the ceremony starts in thirty minutes. Please — can't it wait?"
She tried her best puppy-eyed look, hoping to convince him to stay.
He didn't answer right away. His grey eyes were different — cloudier, distant. There was something buried there she couldn't quite name. She saw it because she always saw him, always had, since their college days.
When he finally stepped closer, closing the distance between them, her heart skipped. "I'm sorry, but I can't," he said softly. A rare smile curved his lips — the kind that made her heart race. She pretended not to notice.
He added, even softer, "I didn't say it earlier, but you look beautiful. Bryce is the luckiest guy in the world to have you."
His words caught her off guard. Worry bloomed in her chest, but she had no time to speak before his expression changed again — stoic, unreadable.
"Kayden?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
He paused at the door, turning his head just slightly. "It's okay, Rae… I'll always stay."