CHAPTER EIGHT
885 Words
I stayed in that seat outside the private room even after he disappeared through the door with the doctor. I didn't know what else to do with myself.
I should have left. I'd done what I came to do. I helped a stranger, made sure she wasn't alone, waited until someone who actually belonged here showed up to take over. There was no reason for me to still be sitting on this hard little bench, in a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and money, in a wing of the hospital clearly meant for people who weren't like me at all.
But my legs didn't want to move yet. And if I was honest with myself, some part of me wanted to know she was okay before I disappeared back into my own ordinary night.
The door opened again a few minutes later. Her son stepped out first, the doctor a step behind him. Even from here I could see something in his shoulders had eased.
"She's stable," the doctor was saying. "The fracture will need surgery, but it's a clean break, nothing complicated. She's awake now, and asking for you."
"Thank you," he said, already moving, then he stopped, turning back toward me like he'd only just remembered I was still there.
"She's asking for the woman who helped her too," the doctor added, glancing at me. "Said something about not wanting her to leave without saying thank you."
I blinked. "Me?"
"If you're willing," the doctor said. "It might help her, honestly. She seems a bit shaken."
I looked at him — at Alexander, though I still didn't know that was his name yet — and he gave me a small nod.
"Please," he said. "If you don't mind."
I didn't mind. I followed them both through the door before I could think too hard about it.
The room was quiet and softly lit, nothing like the chaos of the grocery store floor a few hours ago. She was propped up against the pillows, her leg in some kind of brace, her face pale but alert, her eyes finding mine the moment I stepped inside.
"There you are," she said, her voice weak but warm. "I was starting to think I imagined you."
"I'm right here," I said, moving closer, unsure what else to say.
"You stayed with me. The whole ride here." She reached out one hand, and I took it without thinking. "I don't even know your name."
"Valeria."
"Valeria." She said it slowly, like she wanted to remember it properly. "Thank you, Valeria. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there. Everyone else just walked past me."
"I couldn't just leave you there."
"Most people could have. Most people did." Something in her eyes sharpened, studying me in a way that made me feel unexpectedly seen. "You didn't hesitate at all, did you?"
"There wasn't really anything to think about."
She smiled at that, small and tired but real Beside me, Alexander watched the two of us,
"Alexander," she said, turning to him, "did you thank her properly?"
"I tried to."
"He's terrible at that sort of thing," she said to me almost like a secret. "Gets it from his father. Never quite knows how to say what he means."
"Mother."
"It's true, and you know it." She squeezed my hand gently. "Valeria I don't want this to be goodbye Do you understand? A woman doesn't forget someone who stayed on a cold floor with her when everyone else walked past."
"You don't owe me anything," I said"I'm just glad you're okay."
"I owe you a great deal, whether you want to hear it or not." Her eyes were growing heavier now, the pain medication pulling her under. "Give the hospital your number before you go. I mean it I intend to see you again."
I glanced at Alexander, half expecting him to look uncomfortable at his mother's insistence. Instead he just watched me with the same quiet focus as before, saying nothing to talk her out of it.
"Okay," I said softly. "I will."
"Good." Her eyes were nearly closed now, her hand going slack in mine "Good girl."
A nurse came in a moment later to check her vitals, ushering us both back out into the hallway to let her rest. Alexander and I stood there for a moment afterward, neither of us quite sure what to say now that the emergency had settled into something calmer.
"Thank you," he said again, quieter this time. "Really I don't think I would have known what to do if you hadn't been there."
"You're welcome."
He studied me for a moment longer than felt entirely comfortable, then seemed to catch himself, clearing his throat and looking away.
"I should let you get home," he said. "It's late Thank you again, for everything."
"Take care of her" I said.
"I will"
I left the hospital that night with my number saved in a stranger's phone and a feeling I couldn't quite name settling somewhere behind my ribs.
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