Learning To stay
200 Words
Recovery was quieter than Emilia expected.
The hospital days blurred into a rhythm of light, pain medication, and Lucas’s steady presence. He was there every morning before she woke, every evening long after visiting hours technically ended.
He never crowded her.
Instead, he learned her silences.
Some days she talked—about the accident, about fear, about how close everything had come to ending. Other days she simply held his hand, grounding herself in the fact that he was real, that she was still here.
“You don’t have to be strong,” Lucas told her once, when frustration brought tears to her eyes after a physical therapy session.
“I don’t know how to be anything else,” she admitted.
“You can practice,” he said gently. “With me.”
When she was discharged, the house felt different—less haunted, more hopeful. Lucas moved her things downstairs so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs. He cooked. He hovered only when she needed it.
One evening, as they sat on the couch, her head resting carefully against his shoulder, Emilia whispered, “Thank you for staying.”
Lucas kissed her hair. “I never stopped.”
- Writer
