Chapter 9
418 Words
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound was steady. Rhythmic. Almost comforting.
Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the hospital room. Machines hummed quietly, their blinking lights recording every heartbeat, every breath, every silent second that slipped by.
Evelyn lay still, her face pale against the white pillow, her long lashes resting softly against her cheeks. A gentle warmth glowed from the morning sun filtering through half-drawn blinds, brushing light across her motionless form.
Marcus sat beside her, unmoving, his fingers laced tightly with hers. His eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, never left her face.
“Any changes?” he asked, voice rough from disuse.
Dr. Nguyen glanced at the chart, then at the monitors. “Vitals are stable. No decline. No improvement either. She’s... peaceful.”
Peaceful. That word felt like a dagger.
Marcus nodded faintly. “She always hated hospitals. Said the beeping gave her anxiety,” he said with a hollow laugh.
The nurse adjusted the IV and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Evelyn’s ear. “Some patients… they go somewhere in their mind. We don’t fully understand it, but it’s like they’re dreaming. And they don’t want to wake up just yet.”
Marcus tightened his grip on her hand. “Come back to me, Eve,” he whispered. “Whatever world you’re in, whatever dream you’ve found… just come back.”
But Evelyn’s face remained still, her breathing soft and even. No sign of struggle. No pain. Just peace.
The nurse stepped out, and silence fell again, broken only by the beeping and the occasional rustle of fabric as Marcus leaned closer.
Outside, life went on—doctors moved from room to room, carts rolled past in the hall, a baby cried somewhere down the corridor—but in Room 203, time stood still.
And in the quiet, Evelyn’s fingers gave the faintest twitch.
Marcus's breath caught.
“Did you see that?” he said, eyes wide.
Just then, tiny footsteps padded in. Amy, clutching her stuffed rabbit, stood by the door, hesitant.
“Daddy… is She gonna get better?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Before he could respond, the nurse reentered, already scanning the monitor.
“She moved,” Marcus said quickly. “Her fingers twitched.”
The nurse offered a gentle smile, checking Evelyn’s hand. “Sometimes it’s just a reflex. It doesn’t always mean…”
Marcus nodded, but his gaze never left Evelyn’s hand.
Reflex or not—he chose to believe it meant hope.
- Writer
