Day One
Hospitals had a way of distorting time. Days felt like weeks, and nights stretched endlessly, filled with the quiet hum of machines and the occasional distant murmur of nurses passing by.
Larry had been in this hospital bed for what felt like forever. His body ached, the sterile smell clung to his skin, and the beeping of his monitors had become a rhythm in the background of his life.
Lauren never left for long.
She would go home for a few hours, just enough to shower and change, but she always came back. Margaret, too. She was a mother—of course, she wouldn’t leave. Emily stopped by when she could, a quiet presence that balanced Margaret’s constant worry.
Larry hated every second of it.
He hated the way Margaret watched him like she was waiting for him to break. He hated the
