The nurse leads me quietly down the hallway, She doesn’t speak much and I’m grateful for that because I don’t think I can survive hearing sympathy in another person’s voice right now.

The hallway gets colder the farther we walk or maybe that’s just me.

My arms wrap tighter around myself as we stop in front of a plain white door.

Thenurse turns toward me gently.

"Take your time," she says softly.

Then she opens the door and leaves me alone, fr a second, I just stand there staring at Margaret lies on the hospital bed beneath a white sheet pulled up to her chest, looking Still.....Completely still. She used to be very vibrant and full of life now she just...doesn’t move.

The room suddenly feels too small to breathe in as I take one shaky step forward, then another and my vision blurs almost immediately.

"No..." I whisper weakly, like maybe if I say it enough times this won’t be real.

But it is. God. It’s real.

A broken sound leaves my throat as I slowly move to the chair beside the bed, my knees nearly giving out when I sit. Up close, she somehow looks both peaceful and wrong at the same time, too pale and quiet.

There’s a small bandage near her abdomen where the bullet hit her.

I stare at it and immediately feel sick again, because that bullet was meant for me.

My chin trembles violently.

"I’m sorry," I whisper instantly.

The tears come hard again, hot and endless.

"I’m so sorry..."

My fingers shake as I reach for her hand resting on top of the blanket. The second I touch her, I suck in a sharp breath, her hand is so cold and that breaks something inside me all over again. Because Margaret was always warm. Always. Now she’s cold and I hate it, I hate it so much.

Another sob escapes me.

"I should’ve protected you," I cry softly, gripping her hand tighter. "I should’ve done something better... faster..."

My shoulders shake violently

"You didn’t deserve this," I whisper through tears. "You didn’t deserve any of this."

The room feels painfully silent except for my crying. I lower my head, pressing her cold hand against my forehead as more tears spill down my face.

"Thank you," I whisper brokenly.

The words surprise even me but I mean them

"For everything," I choke out. "For Sikh me when nobody knew how... for being there... for loving me even when I was difficult."

A weak laugh escapes me through my tears.

God. I can’t do this.

"I love you," I whisper shakily. "I don’t think I said that enough."

Fresh tears slide down my cheeks.

"I’m sorry for every time I acted like you weren’t my mother too."

Because she was, not biologically but in every way that mattered.

A quiet knock suddenly sounds behind me and I wipe quickly at my face, turning weakly toward the door.

Thomas steps inside, his expression immediately softens when he sees me beside the bed and suddenly anger flares through my grief so sharply it almost chokes me.

I stand so fast the chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

"You."

My voice cracks as Thomas walks closer carefully.

"Elaine....."

"Where were you?" I demand instantly.

Fresh tears spill down my face.

"Where the hell were you?!"

He stops in front of me silently.

"When Zane got shot?" I choke out. "When Margaret was bleeding to death on the floor?! Where were you?!"

My fists hit his chest hard, not enough to hurt him....im desperate and Broken.

"You were supposed to protect us!" I sob. "You were supposed to be there!"

He doesn’t stop me or t defend himself, he doesn’t even move.

I keep hitting his chest weakly while crying harder and harder until eventually all the strength leaves my body completely and then suddenly....He pulls me against him, tight....Awkwardly tight, lyk he doesn’t really know how to comfort people but he’s trying anyway.

"I’m sorry," he says quietly above my head.

Just that...no excuses or explanations.

I cry into his chest until the worst of it finally starts fading into exhausted little hiccups, eventually I pull back slowly, embarrassed now.

Thomas immediately loosens his hold, he looks uncomfortable, lik emotions aren’t something he knows how to stand near for too long.

"The hospital isn’t safe anymore," he says quietly. "There’s concern whoever helped Aaron may try something again. You need to come somewhere safer."

I wipe roughly at my swollen eyes, my face probably looks horrible.

"I’m sorry," I whisper shakily. "For... attacking you."

"You didn’t."

I almost laugh at that. I definitely did.

I glance back at Margaret one last time and my chest aches so badly I almost stay anyway but I know I can’t.

So I lean down slowly and press one last kiss against her cold forehead.

Then I whisper a trembling goodbye before turning and walking out of the room with tears still sliding silently down my face.

I leave Margaret’s room feeling hollow, like something inside me got buried in there wit her.

Thomas walks beside me quietly through the hallway, giving me space, probably sensing I can barely hold myself together anymore.

My face feels tight from crying and my chest aches, everything werything aches.

We’re halfway down the hallway when a nurse approaches us carefully.

"Mrs. Whitmore?"

I stop immediatelyc, fear grips me so fast my stomach twists painfully.

"Yes?"

Her expression softens.

"Your husband is out of surgery."

My breath catches.

"And?"

"He’s stable."

The words hits me so hard my knees almost give out from relief alone.

"He’s asking for you."

Tears immediately burn my eyes again.

God. Thank God.

I don’t even realize I’m moving until I’m already hurrying after the nurse down another hallway. Every step feels too slow, my heartbeat pounds violently inside my chest, please let him be okay. Please.

The nurse stops outside a private room and pushes the door open gently for me and there he is. My breath leaves me instantly.

Zane lies against stark white hospital sheets, looking painfully pale beneath the dim lights. There’s a bandage wrapped around his torso, wires attached to him, machines quietly beeping beside the bed but he’s alive.

Alive.

The sight nearly destroys me, I walk toward him slowly, tears already spilling before I can stop them.

His eyes are closed at first, I think he’s asleep then suddenly they flutter open weakl.

But the second his gaze lands on me....He smiles Weakly.

"There she is," he murmurs roughly, his voice is so faint I almost don’t hear it and anotherr tear slips down my cheek instantly ao I move closer to the bed.

"Hey," I whisper shakily.

His eyes move slowly over my face.

"You’ve been crying."

The words are slurred slightly from exhaustion and medication, but I hear them clearly.

A broken laugh escapes through my tears.

"I thought I lost you," I whisper.

My voice cracks so badly around the words that I barely recognize it.

"I..."

I can’t even finish the sentence and Zane’s expression softens immediately.

"Shhh," he whispers weakly. "It’s okay, love."

Love...

"I don’t want you crying anymore tears."

His voice is barely audible now, its thin and Exhausted.

But still , i grip his hand carefully, terrified of hurting him somehow.

"You scared me," I admit softly.

A weak huff of amusement leaves him.

"Yeah..." He winces suddenly, pain flashes across his face immediately.

"So..." he starts.

Then he coughs. A rough, painful sound that makes his whole body tense.

"Fuck," he breathes hoarsely, his eyes squeezing shut as pain shoots through him.

"Hey, hey," I say immediately, panic rising again. "Calm down. Don’t force yourself to talk."

I move closer instinctively, brushing trembling fingers carefully through his hair.

"Just breathe."

His breathing stays uneven for a few seconds before finally settling again. God, seeing him like this hurts.

Zane always feels untouchable. Now he looks exhausted just trying to stay awake.

My chest tightens painfully.

"I’m okay," he whispers eventually.

"You got shot."

"I’ve had worse."

I stare at him, rrhen immediately wipe at fresh tears sliding down my cheeks.

"You’re literally in a hospital bed trying to act tough right now."

A tiny smile pulls weakly at his lips again.

"There’s my spitfire."

The nickname almost ruins me emotionally,

I glance at the empty space beside him on the hospital bed.

Then at him.

"Move over," I whisper.

One tired eyebrow lifts slightly.

"You’re bossy."

"And you’re injured. Shift."

Very slowly, and with obvious pain, he moves slightly to the side.

I carefully climb into the bed beside him, terrified of bumping his injury. The second I settle beside him, his arm moves weakly around my waist automatically.

I immediately press myself carefully against his side, resting my head near his shoulder.

And for the first time tonight...

I feel safe enough to breathe, his fingers brush lazily against my arm.

Neither of us speaks for a while, the room is quiet except for the soft beeping of the machines beside him. Eventually, I feel his lips brush lightly against the top of my head.

"So," he murmurs sleepily. "You finally admitted you love me."

A watery laugh escapes me instantly.

"You almost died. It kinda slipped out."