Chapter 2 Elena's Pov

The night has settled over the hospital room like a heavy blanket. Maya is sleeping in deep sleep, completely oblivious of the death one hand still loosely clutching mine even in sleep.

I should be thinking about donor registries, treatment protocols, and the endless battle that lies ahead. 

But my mind, traitor that it is… drifts elsewhere. It drifts to another hospital room, another time, another version of myself who didn't know yet that hearts could break in so many ways.

Dominic.

The name slips into my consciousness like an old wound reopening. I haven't let myself think about him in years, building walls around all of his memories. 

But sitting here in the dark, with my daughter fighting for her life, my walls start to crumble. 

I close my eyes, and the memories carry me back, straight to Los Angeles.

The first memory that I find myself in, is the day of the car accident.

I remember the screech of metal, the shattering glass, the sudden, violent jolt that threw my world off its axis. I was pinned in the driver's seat, smoke billowing from the crumpled hood, and I couldn't move. 

I couldn't breathe, couldn't even think.

I was trying to accept my fate, because there was no use of fighting when the odds were stacked up against me. 

Just when I thought I was going to die, I heard Dominic’s voice. 

He broke the window with his bare hands. I remember the blood dripping from his knuckles as he reached for me, his voice calm and steady despite the chaos. "Elena, look at me. Keep your eyes on me. You're going to be okay, I've got you."

He pulled me from the wreckage moments before the car caught fire. Held me in his arms as I shook uncontrollably, pressing my face into his chest so I wouldn't have to watch the flames consume what could have been my tomb.

After that, everything changed.

We became inseparable, Dominic and I. 

He was my brother Marcus's best friend, yes, but after the accident, he became something more: my protector, the one who knew all my secrets. 

He was the person I called at 2 a.m. when I couldn't sleep, who showed up with coffee and a stupid joke to make me laugh. We spent hours together… walking along the beach, cooking terrible meals in his tiny apartment, talking about everything and nothing.

And I fell in love with him. 

Slowly at first, then all at once, like a wave I couldn't outrun.

But I never told him, I was too afraid. 

I was too convinced that someone like him—kind, brave, impossibly handsome—could never see me that way. So I kept my feelings locked away, treasuring every moment we shared, convincing myself that friendship was enough.

Then came the research opportunity.

Medical research in Boston. Prestigious. Career-defining. The kind of chance that could launch everything I'd ever worked toward. When I got the acceptance letter, I cried. Not just from joy, but because I knew what it meant. I would have to leave. Leave Los Angeles. Leave Marcus. Leave Dominic.

But before I left, I was going to tell him the truth.

I practiced the words a hundred times. In the shower. In the car. Standing in front of my mirror at 3 a.m. Dominic, there's something I've been wanting to tell you. I know we're friends, but I think... I think I want more. I think I've wanted more for a long time.

I convinced myself it was the right moment. The research acceptance felt like a sign—a push from the universe to stop hiding, to take a risk, to finally let him know.

I drove to his apartment with the letter in my pocket, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.

And I found him with Victoria.

My best friend. Victoria, who had listened to me talk about Dominic for months, who knew how I felt, who promised she'd support me whatever I decided. She was sitting on his couch, tucked into his side, laughing at something. 

His arm was around her shoulders, and she was wearing nothing but his hoodie.

I stopped in the doorway. The letter in my pocket felt like it was burning through the fabric.

"Elena!" Dominic's face lit up when he saw me, and that made it worse somehow. That genuine, beautiful smile. "Hey, come in! Victoria stopped by to—"

"I can't stay." The words came out hollow, robotic. "I just... I was in the neighborhood. It's fine. I'll go."

Victoria's eyes met mine. For a split second, I saw guilt flash across her face. Then it was gone, replaced by something that looked almost like pity. "Elena, wait—"

But I was already gone. Already running, already falling apart.

I don't remember much about that night. Just fragments. The taste of cheap whiskey, the blurry surroundings of a bar I'd never been to before. 

Dominic found me somehow, like there was a radar through which he always found me.

"Elena, what are you doing? You're drunk. Let me take you home."

"I don't have a home." 

In the few memories I have of this night, I remember the way his face crumpled with concern. 

"I have nothing, and absolutely one."

He took me back to his apartment. I don't know why. Maybe he felt guilty, maybe he pitied me. Maybe he just didn't want me to drink myself into oblivion alone.

And then…the details are hazy due to the alcohol, but I remember his hands in my hair, his mouth on mine. 

I thought finally, he sees me.

The next morning, I woke up in his bed. The sheets smelled like him. For one beautiful, fleeting moment, I was happy. I thought everything had changed. I thought we had changed.

I walked into his living room, ready to face whatever came next.

And Victoria was there. Sitting on the same couch. Drinking coffee from his favorite mug. Smiling at him like she belonged there.

Dominic looked at me, and I saw it—the regret. The panic. The realization that he'd made a mistake.

I didn't wait for an explanation. I didn't ask for one. I just walked out.

Three days later, I left Los Angeles. I packed my bags, said goodbye to Marcus through tears, and drove away from everything I'd ever known. I told myself I was chasing my career. I told myself Boston was the opportunity of a lifetime.

But really, I was running. Running from Dominic. From Victoria. From the humiliation and heartbreak and confusion that threatened to swallow me whole.

I never looked back, until now.

Now, sitting beside my dying daughter in a hospital room that smells like antiseptic and despair, I let myself remember. I let myself feel the weight of the love I buried, the pain I ran from, the questions I never asked.

Why did he sleep with me if he wanted Victoria? Was it pity? Loneliness? Did it mean nothing?

I'll never know. And maybe that's for the best.

But as I watch Maya sleep, her chest rising and falling with each precious breath, I wonder what Dominic would think if he could see me now. If he'd recognize this woman—older, harder, a mother, a doctor, alone.

Probably not. I barely recognize myself.

I squeeze Maya's hand gently and push the memories back into their box. I can't afford to fall apart. Not now. My daughter needs me. The past is the past, and Dominic is a ghost I chose to leave behind.

But the ache remains. A dull, familiar throb beneath all the other pains.

I wonder if it will ever truly go away.