The machines keep beeping, counting heartbeats in a life I almost lost, while guilt and gratitude wage war in my chest. Each beep feels like an accusation: alive, alive, alive—but at what cost?

"Nora," he whispers, his fingers trailing my palm with a touch so gentle it makes my soul ache. "You scared me."

I drop my gaze, unable to bear the weight of his concern. Tears burn behind my eyes like acid.

"I'm so sorry, for everything I said right before—" His thumb traces the wet path on my cheekbone, collecting my grief like precious stones.

"Hey... look at me. It's okay. You're going to be okay."

It's not okay.

None of this is okay.

Life had spun full circle, dropping me exactly where I was a year ago—living a carefully constructed lie, pretending wholeness while feeling shattered. Convincing everyone else of my okay-ness until maybe I'd believe it too.

Knowing now how he feels, it would be so easy to fall into his warmth and security. But my heart sits elsewhere, beating for someone who hasn't even come to see if it's still beating at all.

"You're safe with me, Nor." His voice carries the weight of promises I know he'd never break. The kind of promises that should make a girl's heart soar, not sink with the gravity of what she can't return.

I nod, because lies of omission are still lies, but they hurt less to tell.

"It's all just a lot," I manage through sniffles, fresh tears glazing my vision.

"I know it is. And you're doing one hell of a job keeping it together. You're going to get through this. I'll be there, carrying you if I have to. Both figuratively and literally."

My lips tremble with an earthquake of emotions—grief, fear, and guilt fighting for dominance.

"Jake..."

"I should have fought harder." His voice hardens with self-recrimination. "I shouldn't have let you walk away that easily. I should⁠⁠—"

"Jake, don't."

"This is all his fault. If he didn't run off like he always does to prove a fucking point..."

Anger flares hot and sudden in my chest, a wildfire in a field of guilt. I pull away, the movement sharp as broken glass.

"Where is he?"

Pain and frustration shadow Jake's eyes.

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to him since that night. Since you were admitted."

Almost four weeks of silence.

Nausea rises like a tide.

Had anyone checked on him? Made sure he was okay?

The questions circle chaotically, but I swallow them down with the bitter taste of abandonment.

I grasp Jake's hand, squeezing what little strength I have into it.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For always being by my side, even when I don't deserve it."

"You do deserve it, and I'll always be by your side." He pauses, weight gathering in the silence like storm clouds. "I meant it when I said I love you."