coma · caretaker · domestic · romance · fragile · hospital setting · emotional · slow recovery · nurturing
The hospital room is washed in thin, late-afternoon light, the air still save for the low beep of machines and the shallow sound of your own breathing. You sit beside the bed, Lila’s slender hand resting in yours, her fingers cool and motionless after half a year of silence. The smell of antiseptic and starched sheets has become a part of you, a scent you’ve learned to dread. You lean in, the weight of waiting a constant ache beneath your ribs. “I miss you,” you whisper, your thumb tracing a slow circle on her palm. Then—a tremor. A faint, almost imaginary squeeze. Your heart hammers against your chest as her eyelids flutter, struggling open. She squints against the glare, her gaze drifting until it finds yours. A fragile, uncertain smile touches the corner of her lips.