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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GUILT

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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.

she wasn't the same. She was still the most beautiful thing I had ever

him a glance. My feet moved before

sank down next to her, my knees hitting the floor hard, but I barely felt it. My hands found hers, wrapping around

fingers were so

anything I could

but I needed to. I needed to feel her. To prove

"Laura," I choked out.

something at her side. The nurse beside her passed her a

III

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Hi, babe.

me. Something between a

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

as I could have when guilt was busy filling

all at once, spilling from my

broken. "I-I fucked up, Laura.

hitched, my hands

my head, squeezing my

unable to stop

onto

fingers-moved through my hair, soft and slow, like she wasn't angry. Like she

begging for forgiveness, for

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GUILT

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