Instead, he sat down beside the bed, his gaze staying on me like he was thinking about something he couldn’t say.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked after a moment. “When she was doing that to you… why didn’t you call me?”
My fingers tightened slightly under the blanket.
I remembered him outside.
Back turned. Laughing softly into his phone.
“I saw you were busy,” I said quietly, a small bitter smile slipping out.
Then I looked at him. “If I called you, would you really come right away?”
“Of course I would,” he said without hesitation.
I froze.
That wasn’t what I expected.
Not at all.
“I’ve already handled it,” he continued, his tone calmer now. “No one’s going to bother you about having a child again. That shit’s over.”
“…I understand.” I lowered my eyes. “Then you should go. You don’t have to stay.”
He frowned slightly. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”
I blinked, a little confused. “Aren’t you busy?”
Busy with everything. Busy with her.
“I’m not busy lately,” he said. Then he reached out and adjusted the blanket around me, his movements careful, almost gentle. “I’ll stay here for a few days. Take care of you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It felt wrong. Like something that didn’t belong to me. But he really stayed.
...
The next few days, he didn’t leave the hospital.
He adjusted my bed when I couldn’t move, fed me when my hands felt too weak, even helped with my dressings like it didn’t bother him at all. A man like him… doing this?
Sometimes I caught myself just staring at him. Was this real? Or was I dreaming again?
One night, the pain got so bad I couldn’t sleep. It kept spreading across my back, making every breath feel heavy.
He noticed.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t answer, just closed my eyes tighter.
Then I felt it.
His hand, slow and steady, lightly patting my back. Careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid to hurt me more.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “Just sleep.”
Again and again, the same rhythm.
That kind of warmth, it felt so familiar. Like those rare moments before everything broke. For a second, I almost wanted to believe it again. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I already decided. I was leaving. And this time, I wouldn’t look back.
A week passed, and the marks on my back finally started to fade. Not gone, but lighter.