79

THEA

There is no warmth.

Only a quiet beeping that pulses like a second heartbeat.

One that isn’t mine.

The bed is too cold. The air too.  And I don’t need to look to know he’s gone.

My eyes blink open anyway—slow, heavy, like they were never meant to.

Like waking up is a betrayal and I'm still supposed to be in deep slumber.

The ceiling is white. Too white. Too clean.

This place smells like endings.

Was it a dream?

His voice still echoes in my ear.

“Let’s put an end to everything. Us. The charade.”

No.

No, no, no, no.

I swallow the rising scream in my throat, choking on the kind of panic that comes too late.

My fingers tremble as they grip the blanket.

I can’t tell if it happened or if I dreamt it.

But I know one thing—

I don’t want it to be real.

Let me go?

I never asked to be let go.

My eyes dart to the corner of the room, and—

There.

A small shape curled on the long grey couch.

One sock off. Cheek squished into the crook of his arm.

Finn.

My baby.

His chest rises and falls in little, even breaths, and something inside me cracks open.

I didn’t think of him.

Not truly.

Not when I gave myself to Ezra like a foolish girl playing sacrifice in a story she still didn’t think she understands.

I didn’t think about how he’d look for me.

Wait for me.

Sleep in hospitals while I willingly walked into the arms of my boss because I couldn't afford to see him in pain.

Because I loved him.

Because I always will.

My eyes sting, hot and fast.

Tears blur the edges of the world, turn it soft and warped, as if reality can’t bear to look at me either.

I turn my face into the pillow to muffle the sound I make.

It’s not a sob.

Not quite.

It’s the sound of a mother breaking.

Quietly.

So she doesn’t wake her son.

At that moment, the door opens with a gentle hiss.

I inhale deeply and shut my eyes tightly, letting the tears fall off before I slowly flip my eyes open. My eyes land on the door, watching as an elderly nurse steps in, soft sole laced crocs whispering against the tiles.

Her hand is filled with shopping bags, face neutral but changes when they land on me. 

“Oh—you’re awake,” she says softly as she walks to the couch and drops the bags a few meters away from sleeping - Finn. “Let me check your vitals.”

I nod, barely.

She busies herself with machines and wires, and I let her.

Because if I don’t, I’ll start asking questions I’m not ready to hear answers to.

“Any pain?” she asks, glancing at me.

I almost laugh.

Pain?

Where do I start?

Do I point to my chest and say here? Or do I tell her that I feel lightheaded and guilty?

Do I say it hurts most when I think about the way he looked at me like I was worth saving,

only to have such a bad dream and wake up without him by my side.

Maybe he was just busy.

“Not really,” I whisper.

Because she means physical pain.

And that’s the only kind I can hide.

She smiles gently and pulls the blanket up around me like I’m made of glass.

“Do you feel strange?”

“I feel lightheaded.” I say.

She chuckles, turning to the drip, adjusting it. “It's to be expected. You lost a lot of blood.”

I say nothing, watching her.

When she's done, her eyes dart to the shopping bags. That's when I finally bring myself to speak again,

“Who are those for?”

“Ohh those. Mr Harrington said to bring them for you and the little boy.”

“Where's he?” 

She turns to me fully. “An emergency came up. So, I'll be at your beck and call for the next three days. You don't have to worry.” She tilts her chin to the bags. “The bags contain clothes and basic daily essentials for you to last three days.”. 

Three days.

Three days.

I blink at her, then at the sterile white walls, then back at the ceiling that has nothing to say to me.

Three whole days in a bed I didn’t really choose.

Still. Trapped. Grounded.

My body itches with the idea.

I’m not used to staying still.

I’m not built for it.

Stillness is for people who aren’t running from their own thoughts.

I always move.

Always.

Emails. Board meetings. Back-to-back fittings.

Lunch while walking. Phone calls while dressing.

Even when I was eight months pregnant, I didn’t sit still—not really. Even after giving birth to Finn.

The silence is foreign. Loud in the worst way.

It gives grief too much room to stretch its legs.

I feel the nurse watching me gently, like she knows the battle I’m fighting is one I won’t say out loud.

“I don’t know how to rest,” I say quietly. “It makes me... fidgety.”

She gives me a knowing smile. “You’re one of those.”

I blink, startled. “Those?”

“The women who don’t stop. Who carry the world and still apologize for how heavy it gets.”

She checks the monitor, her touch practised and kind. “I see your kind often. You never come here unless you’re dragged in bleeding.”

I walked in myself.

I let out a soft breath. Not quite a laugh. More like surrender.

She continues, almost absentmindedly, “Thea, right?”

I nod.

“Lovely name,” she says. “Means goddess, you know.”

I huff softly. “Like you already know, I feel anything but divine right now.”

She lifts a shoulder as she adjusts the IV drip. “Well, goddesses fall too. Doesn’t make them any less holy.”

That silences me.

The nurse—her name tag says Janet—walks over to the foot of the bed, smoothing the sheet as if fussing over something helps her think.

“You should treat this like a break,” she says after a moment. “Your body needs it. Your heart too, I’d guess.”

Silence.

I smile faintly, my throat tight. “Can you bring me some novels, then? Romance. Anything that doesn’t end in heartbreak.”

Like my life…

Janet grins, eyes twinkling like she’s been waiting for that. “Now we’re talking. I’ll bring you a few from the hospital library. We’ve got a whole shelf of escapism. My personal favourite.”

“Good,” I say, voice barely more than a breath. 

Because right now, I need to be anywhere but here.

She nods once. 

Her eyes flick to Finn, still curled on the couch. “Such a sweet boy.”

My chest folds in on itself.

I don’t deserve that kind of love.

Not after leaving him like that.

But I nod nonetheless, silently letting the guilt press in like an old friend who never knocks.

She reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a soft grey cardigan. “For you. He said he's definitely sure you won’t like the hospital gowns.”

My throat closes.

Ezra.

I can't fathom how he can read me like a book.

Even after the dream— the ending, the cold goodbye, his absence right now, he still sent comfort.

Janet sets it gently on the edge of the bed. “You rest. I’ll be back in a while. Page me if you need anything.”

I nod, trying not to cry again.

When the door clicks shut, I turn my head and stare at the wall.

Three days.

Three days of stillness.

No emails.

No boardrooms.

Just me, my guilt, my child, and the silence I’ve always been too afraid to sit with.

Let’s see who I am when there’s nowhere left to run.