I woke slowly the next morning, the world returning in muted fragments: the low hum of the oxygen concentrator, the softer morning light slanting through half-closed blinds, the low murmur of voices outside the door. My body felt like it had been hollowed out—every muscle heavy, chest tight, a dull throb lingering between my legs and deeper in my ribs where the tumor still pressed.
My eyelids cracked open.
Kieran was there.
The room was dim—blinds half-drawn, early sunlight slanting in thin golden bars across the floor. And there, slumped in the chair beside my bed, was Kieran.
He looked utterly wrecked.
His white coat was crumpled on the floor.
His shirt was untucked, sleeves shoved up unevenly, collar stained with what might have been my blood or his tears or both.
Dark circles carved deep hollows under his eyes; his cheeks were streaked with dried tear tracks. His hair stood in wild disarray, as if he'd spent the night raking his hands through it.
His shoulders were hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his palms. He looked like he hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't breathed properly since I'd gone limp beneath him. The strong, unshakable doctor was gone—replaced by a man who looked like he'd aged ten years in one night.
The moment my breathing changed—just a small shift—he lifted his head.
Our eyes met.
For one heartbeat, nothing.
Then his face crumpled.
"Blossom…" The word broke on a sob. He lurched forward, chair scraping, hands reaching for mine like I might vanish again. Tears spilled fresh and fast down his face; he didn't try to hide them.
"You're awake," he choked out. "Oh God—you're awake. You're alive."
He collapsed forward shoulders heaving with wrenching sobs. Tears dripped on my hands, hot and fast.
"I'm so sorry,"
He broke completely then—shoulders shaking violently, breath hitching in ugly, wrecked gasps. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, voice raw and shredded. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I shouldn't have—I should never have— I hurt you. I could've killed you. I thought I'd lost you. "
I realized how hurt he was, how worried he was for me.
He kept saying,
" The blood—your heart—I thought I'd killed you. I thought I'd lost you forever. Please forgive me. Please don't leave me. I can't—I can't do this without you. I love you. I love you so much—"
His words dissolved into sobs; he pressed his forehead to our joined hands, tears dripping onto my knuckles. "Please forgive me. Please. I was so scared. I'm still so scared. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
"Kieran…" My voice was barely a rasp, throat raw from crying and screaming the night before. I tried to lift my free hand to touch his hair, but it trembled and fell back uselessly. "Stop… it's okay. You didn't hurt me. I wanted it. I begged you."
He lifted his head—eyes red, swollen, streaming. "You almost weren't. Your heart stopped. Twice. I had to shock you. I had to—" His voice cracked again. "I thought I'd killed you with my own hands. I'm so sorry. I should've said no. I should've waited. I— I thought—" Another sob tore out of him. "I thought I'd fucked you to death. I'm so sorry."
The door burst open.
Camila, Isabella, Aveline, and Ayla spilled in—faces pale, eyes wide and frantic. They'd clearly been waiting in visitor's room , probably all night.
"Blossom!" Camila cried, rushing to the bed first, tears already streaming. "Oh my god—you're awake—thank god—"
Isabella dropped to her knees beside Kieran, hand flying to her mouth. "We heard the crash cart last night. We thought— we thought you were gone. Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Talk to us, please—"
Aveline hovered at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped tight around herself, voice shaking. "We were so scared. We thought—we thought you were gone. The nurses said your heart stopped—your oxygen crashed—"
Ayla gripped the bed rail, knuckles white. "We've been out there all night. Kieran wouldn't let anyone take you from him. He wouldn't leave. He just… sat here crying. What happened? Are you in pain? Do you need anything? Water? Pain meds? Tell us—"
They were all talking at once—desperate, overlapping questions, hands reaching to touch my arm, my hair, my blanket—terrified of hurting me but more terrified of not touching me.
Kieran lifted his head just enough to look at them, face wrecked, voice hoarse. "She woke up… she's here. But she's weak. Really weak." He swallowed hard, fresh tears falling. "I—I did this. Last night. She asked… I gave in. And then she just… went limp. I thought I'd killed her."
The girls froze.
Camila's eyes widened. "You… what?"
Kieran's shoulders hunched further. "She begged me. Said it was her last wish. I tried to be careful—I swear I tried—but she passed out right after. I pulled out the second I felt her go slack. Oh God, I shouldn't have—"
Isabella reached over and squeezed his shoulder hard. "Stop. You didn't kill her. She's right here. She's breathing. Look at her."
Aveline's voice was soft, trembling. "Blossom… did he hurt you? Do we need to get someone?"
I shook my head weakly—too tired for more than a whisper. "No. I wanted it. I needed it. He was… perfect. Gentle. I'm the one who pushed. Don't blame him."
Kieran let out another broken sound, pressing my hand to his wet cheek. "I love you," he whispered, over and over like a prayer. "I love you so much. Don't leave me again. Please."
The girls crowded closer—hands on me, on him—crying quietly now, a messy huddle of love and fear and relief.
I closed my eyes for a second, letting their warmth surround me.
"I'm still here," I breathed. "For now… I'm still here."