The Night I Lost Everything

Chapter Four

I didn’t go to Aiden because I wanted him, I went because I couldn’t bear to stay at the hospital any second longer.

Mum had been sleeping for hours— or at least that’s what I was told.

“She needs to rest,” the nurse had said, gently. “You should step outside a bit to relax. It would make you feel better.” So I did as she advised, but stepping out didn’t help.

The hallway was quieter now which felt suffocating and tense, like something bad was already waiting to happen.

I sat there for a while, staring at nothing, my phone sitting on my lap, my hands clasped together so tightly they hurt. I kept checking the time, then her door, then checking my phone over and over again. But nothing changed.

I stood up suddenly.

“I’m going outside,” I told Aunty Kathy.

She nodded tiredly, looking like she could pass out any moment from now. “Okay, don’t go too far.” “I won’t.”

That was the agreement, but the moment I stepped outside, I knew I was lying. I did go too far.

The air hit my face and I inhaled deeply, like I had been suffocating inside. The truth is, I had been. Hospitals do that—they trap you in fear and helplessness.

I started walking with no plan, no destination. Just walking, because staying still made everything louder and unbearable. My phone buzzed.

Aiden.

I stared at it for a long time and let it ring twice, before picking up.

“Aiden?” I answered.

“Hey...where are you?” His voice came immediately.

“At the hospital.”

“You don’t sound like you’re inside.”

I let out a small, tired breath.

“I needed to step out a bit.”

“Why?”

I hesitated a bit but eventually told the truth.

“I feel like I’m going to lose her.”

He was silent for a while, then “Come.”

He said, not in a forceful or pushy way. Just… there.

“I don’t think I should.” I said. “Okay.”

My heart skipped. What surprised me was he didn’t hang up.

“You don’t have to stay long,” he added. “Just come and breathe for a bit.” That was all it was. No pressure, no persuasion—Just an option and I took it.

When I got there, he opened the door almost immediately like he had been nearby—not waiting, just there.

“You look exhausted,” he said.

“I am.”

I walked in, dropping my bag by the door.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” “You could’ve stayed.”

“I couldn’t,” I said too quickly.

He didn’t question it, didn’t analyze it—just nodded.

“Come sit,” he said. I sat, leaned back on the couch, then closed my eyes.

For the first time that day, everything felt quiet—not gone, just quieter.

“You can sleep for a while in the room if you want,” he said.

“I don’t want to sleep. I’m fine here.” “Why?” “What if something happens while I’m asleep?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“I’ll wake you if your phone rings, I promise,” he said.

I opened my eyes slightly.

“You’ll stay here with me?” “Yes, I will.”

That was enough for me at that moment.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep. But I did, on the couch.

For the first time that day, I wasn’t listening to machines or footsteps or a doctor's voice—just silence. And when I woke up, I wasn’t alone.

Aiden was sitting beside me like he promised, scrolling through his phone quietly, like he hadn’t moved.

“What time is it?” I asked. “Late.”

My heart skipped a beat as I widened my eyes.

“My phone—” “It hasn’t rung,” he said.

Relief came first, then something else.

“Thank you,” I muttered.

He looked at me—his full focus on me, and something about the way he was looking felt different. And for a moment, everything disappeared.

“You should go back soon,” he said. “I should.” But I didn’t move, neither did he.

Silence stretched—not awkward, just…close.

“I hate this,” I said quietly. “What?”

“Not being in control.”

“You were never in control.” “That’s not helping.” “I know.”

I let out a small breath, then laughed a little.

Not because anything was funny, but because I was tired.

“Everything feels like it’s slipping,” I said. “It is.”

I looked at him.

“You’re terrible at comforting people.”

“I’m honest.” “That’s worse.”

He smiled slightly, and that—small, simple thing did something to me. I shifted slightly closer, not thinking too much about it– just…moving, slowly.

His hand closed gently over mine, warm, steady. That small contact, that simple touch broke whatever control I had left.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” The way he said it–not dismissive, not rushed but certain which made me believe him.

“I don’t want to feel like this tonight,” I said.

“You don’t have to.” “How?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t move away either— somehow, that silence said enough.

I turned toward him fully now, my shoulder brushing his, closer than before, closer than I had intended.

“I wanna stay a little longer.”

He noticed, of course he did. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly. That question mattered more than anything else. Because it meant I wasn’t assuming. I nodded.

“Yes.” I swallowed hard.

We were staring hard into each other's eyes now–my brain yelling for me to look away but my eyes refusing to co-operate. The space between us disappeared in small, unnoticeable ways.

I could smell his hot breath extremely close to mine.

“Then stay,” he whispered.

Everything shifted after that. Not suddenly but slow and natural–just two people trying to forget for a moment. And for a while—It worked.

"Can I-" He stopped, then started again, quieter. "Do you want me to hold you?"

The question undid something in me. Not the offer-the asking–the space he gave me to say no.

I nodded.

His arms came around me slowly, like he was learning the shape of my grief, mapping the boundaries of what I could bear.

He pulled me in not with demand but with invitation-one hand settling at the small of my back, the other cradling my head, his thumb brushing once, tentatively, against my hair. I exhaled against his shoulder. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath for hours.

We stayed like that in his dim living room, the city humming below us, distant and irrelevant.

I felt the steady beat of his heart through his thin sweater, the warmth of him seeping into the cold places I’d carried all day.

His chin rested against my temple, not heavy, just there-an anchor.

I pulled back just enough to look at him.

The streetlight through the window caught the uncertainty in his expression, the way his gaze kept dropping to my mouth then lifting again, checking, checking.

"Aiden-" "I know." He cut in before I could finish whatever I was going to say–before I knew what I was going to say.

"I know, this is-I shouldn't want this. Not now. Not when you're-" He swallowed. "But I keep thinking, if something happened to her, and I never-"

He shook his head. "God, that sounds selfish."

"It's not." The words came out raw. "I came here. I chose to come here."

His hand was still at my back, fingers curling slightly, as if afraid I'd pull away. I didn't.

I watched him struggle with himself-the battle between what he wanted and what he thought he should want, between desire and protection.

"Tell me to stop," he said, "and I will. Anytime. I swear-"

"I don't want you to stop."