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
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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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