Sophie remembered little of those three days. Whenever she managed to open her eyes, she always saw David. Sometimes he held her hand, sometimes he quietly wept, sometimes he simply slept with his head resting against her bed. She knew she was in a hospital, but she didn't have the strength for anything beyond that awareness. Speaking was out of the question.
On the third day, she forced herself to muster enough will to speak. What she believed came out loud and clear was in truth barely a whisper:
"Well, look at you, darling. You could use a shave…"
David kissed her hands, stroked her cheek. His face was pale with worry.
"What's happening to you?" she asked weakly.
"The doctors don't know," David admitted, his voice unsteady. "They're sure it's not pregnancy—that's the only definite answer. They're treating the symptoms, but the illness itself… they can't define it. Your blood pressure dropped dangerously low, they've managed to bring it up slowly with medication. The anemia, too—slight improvement, but slow. Your oxygen levels crashed at one point, critically. They've stabilized now, but… Sophie, you terrify me."
She smiled faintly, gathering what little strength she had left, and drifted back into unconsciousness.
…
Five days later, Sophie began to improve. She started to eat again, even managed a few steps. Yet no one had given her a diagnosis. David made the decision: they were flying home. He had already arranged for top diagnosticians—world-class experts, waiting for them.
They traveled by private plane. Sophie boarded on her own, refusing a stretcher or chair, though a physician accompanied them with a full emergency kit and oxygen tank.
Inside the cabin, David, who until now had held himself together—organizing doctors, securing transport—finally cracked. They were alone in their seats, the doctor respectfully reading in the far corner to give them privacy. David pressed her hand to his lips, his voice breaking as he spoke.
"You have no idea what you mean to me. I barely understand it myself. You're like air—I can't breathe without you, do you understand? Without you, I'll lose my mind. That's no exaggeration, Sophie. I know it. At that ridiculous fashion show, when you fell—when you crumpled right in front of me—it was as if someone tore my heart out. I couldn't hear anyone, couldn't see anyone. There was nothing but you."
Sophie stroked his hand, her eyes soft. Until that moment, she hadn't fully grasped the depth of his feelings. She never doubted his love—there was no reason to—but now she understood that to him, she was not just his world. She was all worlds.
She remembered the elevator—their first night in this reality—how he clung to her, how his gaze burned with desperation. And that phrase: "I love you so much, you can't even imagine." Only now did she begin to comprehend what she had done to this remarkable man. How brazenly she had invaded his life, broken all the rules he once held sacred, and shown him what life could be when surrendered fully to emotion.
But he had done the same to her. If the power of her love had been bearable, portals would never have opened. The portals were nothing more than eruptions of her passion—her anguish, her awe, her love, her devotion—so explosive that reality itself tore to make room for it. The energy of her boundless love cracked the fabric of existence.
And David, she realized, felt the same. With her, he was terrified and ecstatic; without her, he simply couldn't exist.
"My love," she whispered, "I understand. I feel the same. From the very beginning. These feelings frighten me too. The portals… they help. It's like they siphon off this wild energy, and I can breathe again. I'll always love you, do you hear me? I promise—I'll do everything to heal, to stay with you."
She understood him perfectly. And yet she also knew that this kind of dependence—their consuming bond—was dangerous. They had no one else. No parents, no siblings, no children, no true friends. They grew into each other like roots tangled underground. And while David still had his beloved work—at least in some worlds—she had only David.
When she finally drifted into sleep, her head on his shoulder, he sat still, listening to her breath. And he prayed—though he had never believed in God.