When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room.
The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, and a small crowd of doctors hovered near the bed. But my gaze went straight to John.
He stood in the middle, pale and shaken, as if the ground had been ripped out from under him. His eyes locked on me, dark and conflicted, and for a moment I almost let myself believe he cared. Almost.
Because I knew—no matter how much he said he loved me—Susan’s name still lingered in his heart like a shadow neither of us could escape. And it kept me from breathing freely.
I forced myself to stop thinking about it. My body already felt like it was being crushed beneath invisible weights; every breath, every tiny movement sent sharp stabs of pain racing through me.
The day the doctor came in with the re
