137. Where's Josh?

In the days that followed, while Ashley remained in the hospital recovering, Mark visited her often. Sometimes it was just for ten minutes during his lunch break; other times, he came after work, still in his shirt and tie, his hair slightly tousled from the rush of the day. No matter how short the visit, he always brought something—soup, magazines, a book, or just conversation to break the monotony. But as the days passed, something began to gnaw at him.

He never once saw Josh.

Not in the hallway. Not at the family waiting area near the nurses’ station. Not sitting in a chair beside Ashley’s bed. And for someone whose wife had just survived a deliberate hit-and-run, it felt disturbingly odd.

Each time Mark hinted at it—"When does your husband usually drop by?"—Ashley would offer the same answer, a soft smile and an automatic response. "Soon," she’d say. "He usually comes around this time." Or, "He told me he had some things to take care of."

And if Mark got bolder—"It’s strange, I’ve never bumped into him here"—Ashley would laugh nervously, nodding too quickly. "Yeah, strange," she’d echo, before steering the conversation somewhere safer.

The pattern repeated itself enough times that Mark began to wonder if it wasn’t a coincidence at all.

On the morning Ashley was scheduled to be discharged, Mark called her. He kept his voice casual, friendly. "Just checking in—are you home yet?"

Ashley’s voice came back slightly breathless. "Not yet. Still working on the discharge paperwork."

"You’re handling it yourself?" Mark asked, feigning mild surprise.

There was a pause—just a beat too long. Then Ashley replied quickly, almost too quickly. "Josh is sorting it out. I’m just waiting."

Mark, who was already halfway down Sunset Boulevard, tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He changed lanes, headed straight for the hospital. If Josh really was there, then maybe it was time they talked—like adults, without the tension of their last encounter. Maybe now, in a calmer moment, they could clear the air.

But when Mark walked through the hospital’s glass doors and stepped into the lobby, he didn’t find Josh.

He found Ashley.

Still in her pale-blue patient gown, sitting alone in the administrative waiting area, hunched slightly with a clipboard in her lap. Her hair was loosely tied, and fatigue clung to her features like a second skin. When she looked up and saw Mark, she froze.

"You’re here," she said, startled.

"Yeah," he replied, eyes narrowing slightly. "I thought I’d stop by, maybe see Josh too. But—" he glanced around. "Why are you out here by yourself?"

Ashley hesitated. Her mouth opened, then closed again. She looked down at the clipboard as if it might help her find the right words.

"He had something urgent came up," she said, her voice low. "I had to handle this part on my own."

Mark didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her.

Then he stepped forward, reaching for the clipboard. "Let me take care of it. You shouldn’t be doing this. Come on—back to your room."

"Mark, I’m fine. Really. I’m almost done anyway."

"Ashley, please." His tone left little room for argument. "You’re still in a hospital gown. Just sit down, lie back, and rest. I’ll handle the paperwork."

She tried to protest again, half-standing, but he was already helping her up. She gave in, reluctantly, letting him guide her back to her room.

Once there, Mark asked for the necessary forms. Ashley explained what was still pending—the final billing clearance, the summary of care, a signature for release. Mark nodded, already halfway out the door.

"Stay in bed. Don’t move. I’ll be back soon."

Almost an hour passed.

Then the door creaked open, and Mark walked in holding a small folder of discharge documents. His sleeves were rolled up now, and he looked a little flushed from the walk.

"All done," he said. He held the papers up with a small grin. "We can leave. Are your things packed? Or do you need some help?"

Ashley shook her head gently, strands of her hair brushing her cheeks. “No need, Mark. Everything’s already in the suitcase.” Her voice was quiet, too careful, like she was afraid of sounding ungrateful. Then she glanced up at him, guilt pooling behind her tired eyes. “I’m sorry. I keep dragging you into this.”

Mark tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly—not in annoyance, but in disbelief. He lifted the discharge papers between two fingers, his tone a touch playful. “Dragging me into what? Helping you leave a hospital? I think you’re overthinking it. Honestly, if I had to drain the Pacific just to make this easier for you, I would.”

Ashley let out a soft chuckle, almost involuntary. His words, ridiculous as they were, broke the tension for a moment. But while she laughed, Mark only smiled faintly, his eyes holding on to her longer than they should have.

“It’s good to see you laugh like that,” he said, his voice lower now, almost too intimate for the fluorescent-lit room. “Your laugh… it hasn’t changed. I missed it.”

The words hung in the air like static. Not quite loud, but not soft enough to be passed off as a thought spoken to himself. Ashley’s smile faltered. The laughter in her chest died away. She swallowed, and for a second, it looked like she might say something. But instead, she simply looked away.

Silence curled into the space between them—thick, heavy, and familiar in all the wrong ways. A silence that remembered what they once were. A silence that shouldn't have been here now.

Mark realized it too late. The line had been there, and he’d stepped right over it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice clipped and restrained, almost angry at himself.

Ashley turned to him again, her expression unreadable. But after a beat, she offered a small, tight smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes—and nodded once. It was understanding, or at least an attempt at it. A quiet acknowledgment of a moment that shouldn’t have existed.

"Well," Mark cleared his throat. "Do you want to wait for your husband… or should we head out now?"

Ashley hesitated. If she said she wanted to wait for Josh, Mark would likely insist on staying with her—waiting until someone showed up. And that someone wouldn’t come. All the things she had told Mark about Josh were just carefully crafted lies—meant to preserve an image of a devoted husband who protected her, who stood by her side.

But Josh had never been there.

Not during the paperwork. Not during the discharge. Not at any point when Ashley truly needed him.

She took a breath, steadied herself, and looked at Mark.

"Let’s go."