“Did I code?”
Maya’s lips pressed together.
“For forty-seven seconds.”
Forty-seven seconds.
Less than a minute.
Long enough to leave a life behind.
Long enough for a husband to understand the meaning of a decision.
I stared at the window. Outside, the sky was turning blue, indifferent and beautiful.
“Where is Cameron?”
Maya’s expression tightened.
“He’s outside. He has been asking to see you.”
I waited for the familiar pull in my chest. The instinct to forgive before understanding. The reflex of seven years spent making room for his ambition, his long hours, his silences, his pride.
But all I felt was exhaustion.
Not hatred.
Not rage.
Something colder and quieter.
Distance.
“I don’t want him in here.”
Maya nodded once, as if she had expected that answer and respected it.
“I’ll let security know.”
Security.
The word made me turn my head.
“Why would security need to know?”
Maya hesitated again.
Before she could answer, the curtain moved, and Dr. Elena Reyes stepped into the room carrying a tablet and a paper cup of coffee gone untouched.
She looked tired in a way that made her seem more human than I had ever seen her. Her shoulders were stiff, her eyes red at the edges, but when she saw I was awake, her face softened.
“Amelia.”
I had worked beside Elena for nine years. We had disagreed over protocols, argued over staffing, and once spent three hours in a supply closet during a hospital lockdown calmly rationing granola bars and insulting hospital administration in whispers.
I had never seen her look at me with pity.
I did not want to see it now.
“How bad?” I asked.
She pulled a chair close to the bed.
“Elena.”
She sat down. “You survived because your body fought hard and because the team responded quickly once I arrived.”
“That is not an answer.”
A faint, humorless smile touched her mouth. “No. It isn’t.”
The beeping monitor filled the space between us.
