Evan’s hospital room felt suffocating. Monitors beeped. He slept pale under the white bandage, chest rising slow and steady. I hadn’t left my chair in hours. Caleb sat across from me, eyes locked on our son the same way.The doctor said moderate concussion. He’d go home tomorrow. But nothing erased the crack of his head on marble, the blood, the terrifying silence.“You should sleep,” Caleb said, voice low and rough. “I’ll watch him.”“I can’t.” My words scraped out. “You can’t either?”He shook his head. The silence between us felt thick, shared.“Thanks for today,” I whispered. “For rushing him here. For staying.”“He’s my son too, Lena.” His voice broke slightly. “I couldn’t have left.”Caleb stared at Evan, pain raw on his face. “One second he was running toward me, laughing. The next… he was gone. One second. That’s all it ever takes to lose everything.”I nodded, throat tight. “I keep seeing it too.”He looked up, eyes dark with regret. “I think about that other second every sin
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