Chapter 6

David refused to let anyone wheel the gurney away.

Nurses came by three times to reason with him, but he acted as if he were deaf. As he knelt by the bedside, his fingers tightly gripped the ice-cold hand under the sheet.

"Just wait a little longer," he muttered blankly. "She's afraid of the dark. She'll be scared all by herself."

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Frazier, the patient has been pronounced dead. We have to proceed with protocols."

David's head jerked up. "Who said she's dead?"

He glared with a wild, desperate look. "She's just sleeping. She's always loved sleeping in ever since she was a kid. If I call her, she'll wake up."

With that, he lowered his head and called out to me repeatedly. "Hazel... Hazel, please... Wake up. I won't push you anymore. I won't ask you to humor Erika again. Just open your eyes. I'll do whatever you want from now on."

When a nurse helped Erika into the room in a wheelchair, she happened to overhear those words. Her face was pale, and the tubes were still attached to her body. Her hands trembled against the armrests of her wheelchair.

"David..." she called out, but he didn't turn around.

Tears spilled down Erika's cheeks. "Let her go."

David went rigid.

Erika choked back a sob. "She was in so much pain. Don't hold her back anymore."

Those words finally drew a reaction from David. Slowly, he released his grip on my hand. Yet when the white sheet was pulled back over my face, he lunged forward, collapsing onto the edge of the mattress.

...

The next morning, the hospital notified him that in accordance with my explicit instructions, final arrangements had been handled.

There would be no funeral service and no family notification. My personal belongings were to be collected by my designated contact.

David stared at those few typed lines, silent for a long time.

A nurse handed him a cardboard box. Inside were my hearing aid, medical records, an old phone, a small pouch of post-surgical medical items, and a faded, worn notebook.

He carried the box back to our apartment.

When he pushed open the front door, my slippers were still sitting casually by the entryway. Half a glass of cold water remained on the coffee table, and my jacket was draped over the back of the sofa.

Everything looked as though I had merely stepped out for a brief errand. Yet he knew with soul-crushing certainty that I was never coming back.

Sitting on the floor, he pulled the items out of the box one by one. Flipping open the first page of the notebook, he saw my crooked, clumsy handwriting of lip-reading practice, followed by pages filled with notes on mouth movements and expressions.

On the last page, there was only one sentence.

[When David told Erika he loved her, I said I'd always love them.]

David's hand violently trembled, dropping the notebook onto the floor. It finally hit him that I had seen everything that day outside the studio.

I had stood in the cold wind, smiling at them and silently whispering that I loved them.

...

After that day, David couldn't fall asleep at night.

He drank until his stomach bled. When drunk, he would curl up on the floor clutching my jacket, staring at that photograph where only a sliver of my shadow was visible.

He desperately wanted to dream of me, but I never once visited his dreams. Meanwhile, Erika's recovery progressed smoothly day by day.

On the day she was finally able to walk on her own, she came to the apartment to visit him. The place reeked of stale alcohol. David sat slumped on the floor, unshaven and unkempt, his hand clutching my hearing aid.

"If Hazel saw you like this, she'd be heartbroken," Erika whispered bitterly.

David looked up at her, his icy glare making her shiver. "You have no right to guess what she would feel."

Erika burst into tears. "I know you hate me. But didn't she save me because she wanted me to live? She wanted us to be happy, didn't she?"

David let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Us? Hazel is dead! She died on the operating table, saving your life. What makes you think she would want us happy?"

Erika's face drained of color, and silence fell dead and heavy between them.

...

At that same moment, I woke up in a different hospital room. Outside the window lay an unfamiliar stretch of sky.

A doctor stood beside my bed, speaking in a hushed tone. "Ms. Pratt, the surgery was a success. However, your body has been severely depleted for far too long, so your recovery will take time."

My lips parted, but my voice was horribly raspy.

The doctor continued, "As per your request, we have informed Mr. Frazier and Ms. McKnight that resuscitation efforts failed. Your transfer paperwork has also been finalized. You will be leaving tonight."

I closed my eyes and nodded faintly.

I was transferred to a quiet rehabilitation center overseas. The place was peaceful there.

There was no David or Erika. No one would demand that I step aside or remind me of who I owed a debt to.

I took my medication on schedule, did my rehabilitation, and sat out in the sun. The doctors noted that my recovery was slow, but deep down, I knew everything was moving in the right direction.

On occasional nights when I woke up in the dark, I would gently rest my palm against my belly. A little life had briefly kept me company.

"I'm so sorry, my baby," I murmured. "I don't owe them anything anymore, but I own you everything. Find me, okay?"

...

Three months later, the flowers at the retreat center bloomed.

I stood by the window, changing the water in a vase. As I leaned over to trim a withered leaf, a knock sounded at my door.

"Ms. Pratt," the nurse called out gently. "You have visitors."

I looked up to see two figures standing by the courtyard gate. David had gaunt cheeks, looking so thin he was a ghost of his former self.

Erika stood beside him, her face pale and drawn. Across the distance, they stared at the building unblinkingly.