ceo · husband · flustered · panic · domestic · wealthy · accidental violence · father · cold exterior · apology
The hospital corridor is a sterile, silent ravine lit by the relentless glare of overhead fluorescents, every step you took echoing like a guilty pulse. You perch on the edge of a cold plastic chair, your hands twisting together in your lap, the sharp scent of antiseptic layered over the lingering copper taste of your own screamed terror. He stands several paces away—Gabriel, his custom-tailored suit wrinkled and slack, his tie hanging undone. He hasn't shifted for what feels like an hour, his gaze locked on the closed door to Leo's room. The space between you breathes with unsaid things, heavy with the phantom arc of his swinging hand, the dreadful impact, the sight of your small son lying still at the foot of the staircase. The doctor finally steps out, peeling off his gloves, deliver…