Camilla's POV
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythmic sound pulled me from the darkness, dragging my consciousness back to the surface like a fishing line reeling in a catch. My eyelids felt weighted down, refusing to cooperate as I struggled to open them. Everything felt wrong - my body, my mind, even the air around me.
When I finally managed to crack my eyes open, harsh fluorescent lights attacked my vision. I squeezed them shut again, turning my head away from the assault. That's when the smell registered - that unmistakable cocktail of disinfectant and something metallic that could only mean one thing.
Hospital.
The realization hit me like ice water. I was lying in a hospital bed.
I tried to sit up quickly, but pain exploded through my skull like someone had taken a hammer to it. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as my hands flew to my temples. The agony was so intense I thought my head might actually split open.
I stayed frozen in that position, breathing through the pain until it finally began to subside. When I dared to open my eyes again, the room came into focus gradually. White walls, white ceiling, white sheets - everything sterile and cold. The heart monitor beside me continued its steady beeping, matching the irregular rhythm of my pulse.
Looking down at myself, I saw the hospital gown draped loosely over my body and an IV line snaking from my arm to a bag hanging nearby. My mouth felt like sandpaper.
What happened to me?
I racked my brain, trying to piece together the events that led me here. The memories came back in fragments - walking down the sidewalk, feeling dizzy, the world tilting sideways before everything went black.
The door opened with a soft creak, and a nurse in pale blue scrubs entered, checking her clipboard.
"Camilla? Camilla Collin?" she asked softly, as if testing whether I was truly awake.
I stared at her, my mind still foggy. "Yes," I croaked, my voice barely recognizable. "What happened to me?"
She approached the bed, glancing at the monitors. "You collapsed from severe stress. The doctors believe the stress levels triggered a neurological response that caused you to lose consciousness. You're fortunate someone was there to help you."
Her words triggered a flood of returning memories. I remembered walking, feeling overwhelmed, then stumbling. Someone had caught me - strong arms lifting me effortlessly. But when I tried to recall his face, there was nothing but a blur obscured by bright sunlight.
"Someone brought me here?" I asked, scanning the empty room. No flowers, no personal belongings, no sign that anyone had waited for me.
"Yes, he did," the nurse confirmed.
Relief washed over me. At least I hadn't imagined it. With everything falling apart in my life lately, I'd started questioning my own sanity.
"Where is he now?"
The nurse tilted her head slightly. "He brought you in, stayed while you were admitted, took care of your hospital fees, and then left."
"He paid for everything?" I couldn't hide my shock.
"Yes, the entire bill. He didn't leave his name though."
I stared at her in disbelief. "Nothing? No contact information?"
"We assumed you would know who he was," she said gently.
So this stranger saves me, pays my medical bills, and disappears without a trace? Part of me was grateful, but another part was frustrated. How was I supposed to repay someone I couldn't even identify?
I noticed the IV line again, following it up to the bag of clear fluid. "Is this really necessary? You said it was just stress."
"Those are pain medications for the headaches," she explained, making notes on her chart. "The stress caused significant physical symptoms."
Watching the steady drip, I felt like I was barely holding myself together. Maybe I really was falling apart.
"Is there someone we can contact for you? Family or a friend?" the nurse asked.
My eyes found my purse sitting on the chair by the window. "Yes, could you hand me my bag please?"
She retrieved it for me, and I fumbled with the zipper, my fingers still shaky. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found his name.
Tom.
My thumb hovered over his contact, but then everything came rushing back. The office confrontation. His cold dismissal. The pregnancy announcement. Delia Sinclair.
The betrayal hit me all over again, making my stomach clench. How could he do this to us? To Joy? How was I supposed to explain to our daughter that her father had created a whole new family behind our backs?
But despite everything, he needed to know I was in the hospital. He was still Joy's father, after all.
I pressed call and waited. Ring after ring, but no answer.
Clearing my throat, I tried again. Maybe he just missed it.
The phone rang longer this time, but the result was the same. Nothing.
My chest tightened as I dialed a third time, silently pleading for him to pick up.
Still nothing.
Each unanswered call felt like another betrayal, another confirmation of what I already knew but didn't want to accept. He wasn't going to answer because he was probably with her. With Delia and their unborn child, playing happy family while I lay here alone in a hospital bed.
The phone felt heavy in my hands as I stared at his name on the screen. How had we gotten to this point? How had the man I'd loved and trusted become someone who wouldn't even answer my calls in an emergency?