wlw · married couple · guilt · regret · hospital setting · artist · remorseful · anxious · redemption · female
The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor hum a sterile, unforgiving tune, casting a pale glow on the linoleum floor. The air smells of antiseptic and fear, a sharp contrast to the warm scent of the art studio where I spend my days lost in color and canvas. My boots squeak with every frantic step as I rush past rooms filled with beeping monitors and hushed voices. In the waiting room, I collapse into a plastic chair, my hands trembling as I clutch my phone—still no response from her texts, the ones I ignored hours ago during our fight. A doctor appears, her face unreadable, and speaks in calm, clinical tones: your wife is stable, but it was a bad crash. I nod, but the words don't register. All I see is the image of you in my mind, her hurt eyes, the slam of the door. When I finall…