Three: Into the Coma

The world didn’t end with a bang, Eva thought—it ended with silence.

Daniel lay still on the hospital bed, his chest rising and falling only because of the machines. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator was the only proof that he still existed in the space between life and death. His eyes were closed, lashes casting faint shadows on skin that looked paler every day. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he was simply sleeping. But sleep carried hope of waking; a coma felt like an endless corridor with no doors.

Eva sat beside him, her hand curled over his cold fingers, her body aching from days of sitting in the same chair. She whispered things—memories, pleas, even silly little stories about their neighbors—anything to keep the silence from consuming her.

But Daniel never stirred.

The first time Adrian walked in that day, she didn’t notice him until his voice broke the fog.

“Mrs. Mitchell.”

She startled, pulling her hand from Daniel’s as though she’d been caught doing something wrong. “Doctor Cole,” she breathed, her voice hoarse. “Is there… any change?”

He stepped closer, clipboard in hand, the faint scent of antiseptic and cedar clinging to him. “No significant progress,” he said evenly. “His vitals remain stable, but the coma may persist until the swelling in his heart decreases. Time is… unpredictable in cases like this.”

Her throat constricted. “So you’re saying he could stay like this for weeks? Months?”

His gaze softened—barely, but enough that she noticed. “Or longer. But he’s strong. The body often fights harder than the mind can understand.”

Eva blinked rapidly, trying to swallow the knot in her chest. She hated how his voice steadied her, hated how much she leaned into the reassurance.

Adrian lingered, longer than necessary. His eyes shifted from Daniel to her, resting on the dark circles under her eyes, the hollow of her cheeks. “Have you slept?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. What if he—what if something happens and I’m not here?”

“You’ll break down,” he said flatly. “And then you won’t be here for him at all.”

Something in his tone made her bristle. “I don’t need a lecture, Doctor. I need my husband back.”

The silence stretched, taut. Then his voice dropped, softer than she’d ever heard it. “I know.”

Her heart lurched, and for a terrifying second, she wanted to believe he meant more than he should.

---

Nights blurred together after that. Nurses came and went, but Adrian was the constant. He always appeared at odd hours—late evenings, even past midnight—checking vitals that others had already logged, adjusting machines that didn’t need adjusting. Eva told herself he was simply thorough, committed, the kind of doctor who gave everything to his patients. But deep down, she felt it—the way his gaze lingered more on her than on the monitors.

One night, the hospital was quiet in a way that felt sacred, the corridors hushed, the world outside dark. Eva sat with her head against the edge of Daniel’s bed, fighting tears that had finally won after days of restraint. She didn’t hear Adrian enter, but she felt him before she saw him—like the air shifted, charged.

“Eva.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of her first name on his lips. He’d never used it before. Not once.

Her tears made her vision swim, but she could still make out his face—etched with something sharp, something she couldn’t read. He crossed the room in three strides and crouched before her chair, just as he had days ago. But this time, there was no clipboard between them, no pretense of duty.

“You can’t do this to yourself,” he said, his voice low, almost fierce. “You’re fading. And I…” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly, his jaw tight.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. The sight of him up close, shadows carving his features, the faint furrow in his brow—it was too much, too intimate.

“I don’t know how to let go,” she whispered finally, broken. “He’s here, but he’s not. I sit here every day, waiting, praying, and I don’t even know if he can hear me.”

Adrian’s gaze flickered to Daniel, then back to her. “Then let me carry some of it,” he said. “At least for tonight.”

Her breath caught. The words were wrong—wrong because they soothed her more than anything had in weeks. Wrong because they felt like more than a doctor’s promise.

Silence wrapped around them, heavy and expectant. She should have stood, walked away, reminded him of the boundaries between them. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t.

And then it happened.

His hand lifted, hesitating only a fraction before his fingertips brushed her cheek, warm against the dampness of her tears. The touch was electric, startling her into stillness.

“Adrian…” she whispered, his name slipping out before she could stop it.

Something dark flickered in his eyes at the sound. And then, as though a tether snapped, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful. It was searing—hungry, desperate, as though he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than she could imagine. The world dissolved—the machines, the sterile walls, even Daniel lying beside them. For one breathless instant, there was only the heat of his lips and the sharp ache of forbidden relief.

Eva’s heart pounded wildly, torn between resistance and surrender. She knew this was madness, betrayal carved into flesh and bone, right before her husband lying unconscious.

But her body betrayed her—leaning into him, her lips parting, answering the kiss with a need she hadn’t realized was buried inside her.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against hers.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, though his eyes told her he wasn’t sorry at all.

Eva’s chest heaved as reality came rushing back. She jerked away, her palm flying to her lips, still burning from his touch. “This… this can’t happen,” she stammered, her voice shaking. "Ever!"

Adrian nodded and walked out quietly.