My Husband 387

GUILT JOSH

The hallway outside her room felt too long. Too bright. Too goddamn sterile. My footsteps barely made a sound against the polished floors, but inside my head, everything was roaring. Laura was alive.

The words kept looping over and over, but my body hadn't caught up yet. It felt like if I let myself believe it too much, the universe would take it away again.

A doctor had tried to stop me at the nurses' station, spitting out words like stable condition and still on a ventilator, but none of it registered. I'd shoved past them, past the concerned voices, past the fucking security guard who grabbed at my arm. Nothing was going to stop

me.

And then I saw her.

The doors burst open, loud voices calling after me, but none of it mattered.

My heart stopped.

Laura.

Her pale, thin frame was bundled into a wheelchair, her body swallowed up by hospital-issued clothes that hung from her like she was nothing but skin and bone. Her hair was limp, her cheeks hollowed, and her skin too pale under the harsh 0.00%

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fluorescent lights.

But she was looking at me.

Those eyes-those beautiful fucking eyes-were staring right at me, and I swore I felt something crack wide open in my chest.

Laura was alive.

that time had taken from her, that she wasn't the same. She was still the most beautiful thing I had ever

security guard grabbed at me again, but I shoved him off, barely sparing him a glance. My

hard, but I barely felt it. My hands found hers, wrapping around them like if I let go,

fingers were so

kissed them, kissed her wrists, her knuckles, anything

touch her too much, afraid she'd break, but I needed to.

"Laura," I choked out.

trembled as she reached for something at her side. The nurse beside her passed her a small

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Hi, babe.

me. Something between a laugh and

was useless. I was smiling even as my vision blurred, even as my chest ached with everything I

as much as I could have when guilt was busy filling up my ribs, crawling up my

at once, spilling from my mouth like I had no control over

whispered, my voice raw, broken. "I-I fucked up, Laura. I gave up on you. I almost signed-I almost signed, and if

my hands tightening

my head,

known better," I kept going, unable to stop the words. "I should've held out. I

head onto her lap, my

me, but her fingers-her beautiful, delicate fingers-moved through my

for forgiveness, for

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