After the echo

Lucas final moments

The room is too full. Too loud in that quiet way people breathe when they’re trying not to speak the truth aloud. Bane stands near the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched like he’s grinding every word he wants to say into dust. Arthur’s got his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s trying to hold something in, maybe his composure, maybe his guilt. And Ophelia… she’s sitting in the chair beside me, but she’s not really here. Not with me. Her body faces forward, but her soul? It’s already somewhere else. With someone else. So is mine, in a way. But it just hurts differently, seeing her already moving on while I’m still here, holding on by a thread. The door opens, and the doctor steps in like a man who’s done this too many times. Polished. Prepared. There’s a folder in his hand, which tells me everything I need to know before he even opens his mouth. Bad news always comes in folders. “Lucas,” he says gently, nodding at the others. “I wanted to speak with you. With all of you, really.” I already know. I’ve known since the second Ophelia wouldn’t meet my eyes. Still, I swallow and nod. “Let’s hear it, Doc.” He takes a breath, measured, practiced. “The internal injuries from the accident were more extensive than we initially realized. One of your kidneys was lacerated on impact. At first, it was a small tear. But over time, the damage worsened. You developed sepsis.” The word hangs in the air like the scent of blood. I feel the guilt and regret ripple through me as I glance at Arthur. “I’ve been on antibiotics,” I say. It comes out weaker than I want. “Yes. We’ve tried multiple rounds,” the doctor says. “But your body’s not responding anymore. The infection is spreading. Fast.” Ophelia’s hand curls around mine, fingers trembling. I stare at the doctor. “What does that mean, exactly?” He pauses. This is the part where the truth stops being medical and starts being personal. “It means your organs are starting to shut down. Lucas, we’re running out of time.” My ears ring, not like a bell, but like the dead silence before a crash. I can’t move. Can’t speak. Ophelia chokes on a sound beside me. I turn my head slowly, and I see her face crumble. Her lips part like she’s going to argue, like she’s going to beg, but all that comes out is a strangled whisper. “No…” Arthur’s shoulders drop. His mouth presses into a line, but his eyes look like glass. Bane doesn’t even flinch. Just stares at the wall like he’d rather be anywhere else. Of course he would. “You’re sure?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. My voice cracks on the word. I feel the weight of their silence long before the doctor confirms it. “We’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable,” he says quietly. Comfortable. I almost laugh. That’s what they call it when dying becomes a scheduled event. The doctor leaves, the door clicking shut behind him like the end of a sentence. And just like that, I’ve been given a deadline. I’m dying. And all three of them are still here. In the same room. Watching me rot in real time. No one says a word. And what could they say? The girl I love is already mourning me while holding someone else’s name on her tongue. My best friend is staring at the floor like it’s more important than my funeral. And Arthur? He didn’t show up until the end. Just like I knew he would. A part of me wonders if the reason he didn’t show up earlier is because I refused to leave Ophelia. I close my eyes. I always thought dying would feel like leaving. But it just feels like being the last one left behind. I don’t know how long the silence stretches. It could be minutes. It could be a lifetime. I hear the chair creak as Ophelia shifts beside me. She squeezes my hand like she’s trying to memorize the shape of it, like she knows soon it’ll be just another thing she can’t hold anymore. She sniffles. “Lucas…” I open my eyes. And I wish I hadn’t. Because the look on her face, it breaks something deep in me. Not just sadness. Not just fear. It’s grief. Premature grief. Like I’ve already gone and she’s already buried me. “You don’t get to cry like that,” I whisper. “Not when you’ve already started moving on.” She jerks back like I slapped her. And it’s not fair, me taking this out on her like I’m not just as guilty. “I didn’t—” she starts. “Yes, you did,” I cut in, but there’s no heat behind it. Just exhaustion. “You don’t say it out loud, but I see the way you look at him. At Bane. Like you’re still breathing because he remembered to tell you how.” Ophelia covers her mouth, and tears slip between her fingers. “You can’t sit here and act like before everything went down you were the perfect husband,” she says, her voice cracking. “You’ve been pushing me away too.” “I’m not mad,” I say softly. “That’s the thing. I think I would’ve been, if I wasn’t dying. But now…” I look at her. Really look. “Now I’m just sad I wasn’t enough.” “Stop,” she whispers. “Please. You don’t have forever. Let’s make the best of this.” “Why not?” My throat burns. “We don’t have time to pretend anymore. Let’s not waste what’s left lying.” She’s sobbing now. Shaking. Arthur walks out without a word, and Bane watches me like he wants to tear something apart. Maybe himself. Maybe me. “I wanted to choose you,” I say, and my voice finally breaks. “Every damn day. I tried. I thought if I loved you hard enough, you’d never leave. But I lost you before the crash. Didn’t I?” She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. “I’m scared,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “Not of dying. I think I’ve been dying for a long time. I’m scared you won’t remember the real me. That when I’m gone, all that’s left of me will be the way you looked at him.” “Lucas,” she sobs. “Promise me something.” “Anything.” “Don’t let him touch you while I’m still breathing.” The words land like a slap. Her breath catches, and for a second, her face collapses. Then I turn away. Because I don’t want her to lie to me. And I don’t want to see her break that promise, either. I already know she has. She stays there, quiet, while my body aches and the machines beep and the world goes on. Then, finally, barely audible, she whispers, “I think I’m pregnant.” Everything inside me stops. And just like that, the pain doesn’t matter. Because I realize, I may be dying. But something I left behind might not be.