Jerry's hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and fresh linen. The soft beeping of the monitors which was the only sound heard for days, except for Aria’s voice, calm, patient and always comforting.
Today, however, the machines were gone. Jerry was finally being discharged.
“It's really over” he said, putting on his shoes slowly, still weak but smiling. “I thought I’d never leave that bed.”
“You fought hard,” Aria replied, helping him stand. “And you’re not alone, Jerry. You never were.”
He met her gaze, eyes filled with gratitude. "You didn't give up on me! Thank you. ”
Aria’s smile was warm. “You’re family. I could never.”
Outside the hospital, Daniel sat in his car, watching them from a distance. He should have felt relief that Jerry was alive—grateful even. But all he coul
