YOU ARE MY LIGHT

CHAPTER 13 : BEHIND CLOSED DOOR

The silence in the triage bay was deafening. I could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant beep of a monitor, and the frantic pounding of my own heart. I stared at the man on the gurney. He looked older, his skin sallow and hair thinning, but the sneer on his lips—even in his sleep—was unmistakable.

“Juliet?” Vincent’s voice was closer now. I felt his presence behind me, that familiar warmth that usually made me feel safe. Right now, it made me feel exposed.

“Is something wrong? Do you know this man?”

I couldn’t find my voice. My throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. I kept my head down, pretending to study the patient’s chart, my hands shaking violently enough to make the paper rattle.

Then, frantic footsteps echoed in our direction.

“Are you okay? Oh god, are you okay?!”

I recognized the voice before I even looked up—my mother.

“Leave me alone, woman!” my father groaned, his eyes fluttering open. “You want to pretend you care about me now? After everything?”

I finally looked up. My mother stood there, her face pale and lined with fatigue that mirrored my own. Our eyes met, and for a second, time stopped.

“Mom?” I whispered. She reached out, her hand trembling as it touched my face.

“Juliet… oh, Juliet.” She glanced at the gurney, desperation in her eyes. “How is your dad doing? Please tell me it isn’t serious.”

Before I could answer, my father’s voice exploded, drawing every eye in the ER toward us.

“Stop pretending!” he shouted, pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at my mother. “I can see right through you! You’re the one who planned this! You wanted to kill me with this accident, didn’t you? You’re wicked! Both of you!”

The nurses froze. Patients turned their heads. The professional sanctuary I had worked so hard to build crumbled in seconds. Heat crawled up my neck. Vincent’s gaze burned into my back—confused, concerned, seeing far more than I wanted him to.

I stepped closer to the bed, my voice a sharp whisper.

“This is a hospital. Stop shouting!”

“Oh, I should stop shouting so you people can kill me in silence? No! I will not!” His words were slurred by alcohol but sharp with malice.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The whispers from the staff, the pity in my mother’s eyes, and the presence of the man I loved witnessing it all—it was too much.

Without a word to Vincent or the paramedics, I grabbed the gurney handles. I didn’t care that he only had minor lacerations. I didn’t care about protocol. I pushed the bed with every ounce of strength I had, steering him away from the public eye and into a private room I quickly registered under my name.

I had to hide him. I had to hide all of them.

Inside the room, I closed the door and turned to him.

“Please… don’t do this to me here too.”

He looked at me with cold eyes.

“Juliet, go and sit down. I don’t want you to touch me before you people kill me. I don’t even know how you became a nurse.”

The words stung, but I swallowed them. My mom came in after checking that he had everything he needed.

“Juliet, it’s okay. You can go and continue your job,” she said gently, holding both my hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he would come here.”

“But Mom… what is he doing here? It’s far from home. How did he even get here?” I asked, trying not to cry.

“All this pretending,” my father interrupted, clapping his hands slowly. “Only strangers would believe you two. But I will never.”

My mother walked toward him. “Please, don’t embarrass your daughter here,” she said softly.

“Leave me, woman!” he snapped.

I couldn’t breathe in that room anymore. I opened the door to get the supplies I needed to treat him. Outside, I saw Mr. Vincent pacing back and forth like someone who wanted to step in but didn’t know if he should. When he saw me, he stopped.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded and walked past him.

When I returned with the supplies, I saw a small crowd gathered outside the room. Something was wrong.

“Mum?” I said, pushing through the people. “Excuse me… excuse me.”

I rushed inside and saw my mother. Her head was bleeding. I froze. Behind me, I heard Vincent’s firm voice telling the crowd to leave. The room slowly became quiet.

I ran to her.

“Mum… what happened? What did he do to you?”

“It’s nothing,” she whispered quickly. “Just a scratch.”

Just a scratch. I had been hearing those words for twenty-three years. Every time something happened, it was “just a scratch.” I had grown to hate that sentence.

I looked at my father. He had turned his back to us, pretending nothing had happened.

“Mum, sit down. Let me clean it,” I said.

“No, Juliet. This is nothing. Take care of your father first. I’ll take care of mine. Remember, I’m the one who takes care of you when you’re hurt,” she said with a small, fake smile.

“Go and treat your father.”

Tears filled my eyes. I began to wonder what my mother had endured when I wasn’t around. Why didn’t she leave? What kind of love makes someone stay in pain?

I walked over to my father calmly. I treated his wounds, wrapped the bandage, and gave him his injection. Soon, he fell asleep.

I went back to my mom.

“Mum, turn around. Let me treat you.”

“Lower your voice. Don’t wake him up,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

I carefully cleaned her injury.

“You’re really good at this now,” she said softly with a smile.

“Mum, you need to go home and rest,” I said while packing my kit.

“No. Your father isn’t in good condition. I have to look after him.”

“Mum,” I said firmly, holding her hand, “I’ll take care of him. I’m a nurse… and I’m his daughter. It’s minor. Nothing will happen. Please go home.”

She looked at me for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“It’s okay,” I replied, smiling like everything was fine. I think I learned how to fake a smile from her.

“He said he found work here,” she continued. “He said he had to come. I tried to stop him. This isn’t the first job he’s gotten… it always ends like this.”

“It’s okay, Mum,” I said, giving her my home address and key. “I’ll go later. He’ll need clean clothes in case he’s discharged,” she said.

I felt tears building again, but they wouldn’t fall. How could she love someone who keeps hurting her?

“I’ll go buy the clothes,” I said quickly, needing air before I broke down.

“Okay. Be fast,” she replied.

I nodded. I needed to inform Mr. Vincent. I wiped my eyes and walked to his office. I knocked.

“Come in,” he said. I stepped inside. He looked worried—more worried than I had ever seen him.

“Sir,” I began, lowering my head so he wouldn’t see my tears, “I need to step out for a bit. I have to buy something for my mum.”

“Okay, but—” he started.

I nodded and turned to leave. Suddenly, a hand caught mine.

“Juliet… please. Are you okay?”

That was it. The tears I had been fighting rushed out. Why does he always see my weak spots? I thought.

“You should cry if you want to,” he said gently. “Stop holding it in.”

I tried to hold it, but his hand was still holding mine. My voice cracked. A soft sob escaped me.

He slowly released my hand and turned his back.

“You can use my shoulder if you need one,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”

That broke me. I turned toward him and rested my forehead against his back. Slowly, carefully, I leaned onto his shoulder and began to cry. My tears soaked into his white coat, and he didn’t move.

I didn’t even know what I was crying for anymore. Was it my father? My mother, smiling through pain? The humiliation in front of the hospital staff? Or the fact that the man I had feelings for just saw the most broken version of me? I cried for all of it. And for the first time in years, I didn’t try to hide it.