About my ex who walked out with my dignity still on the floor.
About my stupid, stubborn dream of opening a tiny community clinic someday—something real, something mine.
I told myself it was harmless.
A coma doesn’t judge you.
A coma doesn’t interrupt you.
A coma doesn’t leave.
And Henry… Henry lay there breathing softly, face calm, expensive stubble like time had paused around him. Sometimes I caught myself watching his chest rise and fall and thinking: Come back. Please.
That night, at 2:47 a.m., I stepped closer to adjust his IV drip.
And my courage—my common sense—my job—slipped, just for a second.
Part 3 — The Kiss I Thought Would Disappear
“I wish you would wake up,” I whispered, my voice barely there. “You’d probably fire me for what I’m about to do.”
It was supposed to be nothing.
A quick, stupid, silent goodbye.
A kiss no one would know existed.
I leaned in—barely a brush of my lips against his.
Warm. Real. Wrong.
I pulled back fast, heart racing, already hating myself.
