72

72

Ethan

I stared at him, my eyes blurry with tears I couldn’t hold back anymore. His face, pale and still, lay motionless beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, and for the first time, I realized how fragile he looked. A sharp pang of guilt twisted inside me, deep and painful.

I had pushed him away. I had let him go when he was only trying to hold on. And now, here he was, fighting for his life—and I couldn’t do anything to help him.

I brushed my fingers across his forehead, careful not to disturb the bandages. I didn’t want to hurt him more, even though the pain inside me was unbearable.

“Please,” I whispered again, my voice shaking. “I need you to wake up.”

The room was silent except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor, the rhythm of it almost mocking me, reminding me of how powerless I was.

I thought about the words Ron had said—This is your fault. The anger in his voice had felt like a slap, each word hitting me harder than the last. I couldn’t argue with him. Not really.