Chapter Five – The White Room
1047 Words
The world returned in fragments.
Beeping first. Rhythmic, metronomic. Then the sting of antiseptic in her nose. Then the scrape of sheets against her palms. Emily opened her eyes and found herself under a ceiling too white, too flat, a ceiling that did not belong to her apartment.
For a moment she couldn’t move. Her mind replayed what had come before: Tom’s face pale with fear, the basketball court tilting under her, the taste of iron, the siren scream. It played like broken film, frames jerking.
She turned her head. A curtain divided the room. On her side, a monitor glowed with green lines; IV tubing curled into her arm. The weight in her abdomen was gone. A different weight replaced it: hollow, brutal, final.
A nurse appeared. Mid-thirties, kind eyes above a mask. She checked the IV, pressed a button on the monitor, then leaned close.
“You’re awake. Good. Don’t try to move too fast.”
Emily swallowed. Her throat felt scraped raw. “The baby?”
The nurse’s eyes softened in that way that meant the answer was already no. She didn’t say it herself. She touched Emily’s wrist, light as if afraid of breaking bone. “The doctor will explain everything.”
Emily turned her face to the wall. The pulse oximeter beeped on her finger, counting a life smaller than it had been yesterday.
Time blurred. Doctors came, their voices professional, layered with empathy as thin as gauze. Words floated in: “miscarriage… too much stress… body’s response…” One doctor added, “not your fault,” which only made her feel like it was. They spoke of rest, of future possibilities, of recovery. They did not speak Daniel’s name.
When they left, silence thudded heavier than sound. Emily lay still, every muscle tight, and felt the emptiness inside her like a new wound.
The curtain moved again. This time it wasn’t a nurse.
Major Thomas Reed. Her commanding officer. His uniform was pressed even here, shoes gleaming under the fluorescent lights. He looked larger than the room, shoulders squared, posture carrying the authority of decades. But his eyes gave him away. They carried weight—grief, maybe guilt.
He stopped at the foot of the bed. For a moment he didn’t speak, just studied her as if she were a soldier under triage. Finally:
“Emily.”
Her voice rasped. “Sir.”
He pulled the chair closer and sat, back straight even in the low seat. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m sorry.”
She stared at him, searching his face for something—truth, humanity, betrayal. “Sorry for what, Major? My husband? My child? Or the silence wrapped around both?”
Reed inhaled slowly. “All of it.”
Emily’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “That covers a lot of ground.”
He didn’t flinch. “You’ve carried more than most. I wish I could tell you it will get easier.”
“You wish,” she repeated. Her throat tightened. “But you won’t.”
The pause stretched. His gaze dropped to the floor. When he looked back, his voice was quieter. “Emily, you need to let this go.”
The words sliced through the sterile air.
Her stomach tightened again, though not with pain this time—with rage. “Let go?”
“I know how it sounds,” he said quickly. “But listen. I’ve seen soldiers drown themselves in questions they can’t answer. You deserve peace. Daniel deserves to rest. What happened—it’s above us. Higher clearance than either of us will ever have. If you keep digging…” His jaw worked. “…it won’t end well for you.”
Emily forced herself upright against the pillows, ignoring the pull in her abdomen. Her IV tugged, the monitor protested with a sharper beep. “So I’m supposed to bury him twice. Once in an empty box, and once in my silence.”
Reed’s voice tightened. “I’m not your enemy. I want to protect you. From them.”
“From Hudson? From the company? From whoever’s hiding what happened?” She leaned forward, her voice a blade. “You think protecting me means keeping me ignorant. That’s not protection, Major. That’s prison.”
His face flickered with conflict. He looked at the closed door, then back at her. His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “Emily… I saw some of the reports. Off the record. The official story doesn’t match the field logs. But if I admit that out loud, I lose everything. They’ll bury me with him.”
She froze. For the first time, he had cracked. He had admitted enough to confirm what her instincts screamed.
“Then you know,” she said softly.
“I know pieces,” Reed answered. “Pieces that are dangerous even to hold.” His hand clenched on the armrest. “I’m begging you—leave it. For your own survival.”
Emily let her head fall back against the pillow. Her body was weak, but her mind blazed. “They already took everything from me. My husband. My child. What’s left for them to threaten?”
Reed’s throat worked. His voice grew harsh, almost desperate. “Your life, Emily. Your freedom. They can strip you of both before you blink.”
Her eyes bored into his. “Then they’ll have to try.”
For a moment neither moved. The monitor beeped, stubborn heartbeat announcing itself. Reed looked older suddenly, the lines on his face cut deeper. He rose, cap tucked under his arm, posture retreating into regulation.
“I’ll check on you again,” he said. His tone carried weight and futility at once. “Rest.”
He turned toward the door, paused. His voice, quiet now, was stripped of command: “I’m sorry, Emily. For all of it.”
The door shut behind him.
Emily lay back, the tears finally sliding free. She pressed her palms against her stomach, empty now, and whispered Daniel’s name once, twice, like a prayer.
The room was too white, too clean. The truth pressed against her ribs, demanding breath. She stared at the ceiling and knew: peace was not an option.
If they wanted silence, they had chosen the wrong widow.
- Writer
