Trapped in Between
1120 Words
The next sound that woke me up was the continuous beep of
a machine steadily, counting time l wasn’t sure l wanted anymore.
The air smelled sterile, too clean, laced with chemicals that made my stomach churn.
I tried to move slowly on the bed and groaned.
Nothing happened.
Panic fluttered weakly inside me, but even fear felt distant, muffled, as if wrapped in thick cotton.
“Easy… don’t move yet.”
The voice was unfamiliar, male. calm, close.
My eyelids trembled, heavy as stone, before finally lifting just enough to let light see the porcelain ceiling of the hospital.
“Oh my God, I am in the hospital”
The first thing I felt was pain.
It pulsed through my body in slow, deliberate waves, deep, aching, unforgiving.
My throat burned, dry and tight, and when I tried to swallow, the effort sent a sharp sting down my chest.
Headlights.
The sky spinning.
I sucked in a breath, and pain flared in protest.
“There you go,” the voice said gently. “You’re safe.”
I turned my head a fraction, just enough to see him.
He sat beside the bed, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly dark, disheveled like he'd run his hands through it too many times.
his face is dangerously handsome, with shiny green eyes to match his A-line nose.
His face held exhaustion, but his eyes were steady, and fixed entirely on me, as if l were the only thing anchoring him in the room.
“Alex,” he said when her gaze lingered. “Alexander Hill.”
I opened my lips and tried to speak, but no words came out.
“You were hit by a car,” he continued softly, as if afraid loud words might break me.
“You’ve been unconscious for two days.
Doctor say you’re strong” you will be discharged in no distant time, he added.”
Two days.
My fingers twitched against the sheet.
Two days of nothingness.
Two days where the world had gone on without my consent.
Why hadn’t it stayed dark?
Alex noticed the movement immediately.
He leaned forward, relief flickering across his face before he masked it. “You don’t have to talk. Just… rest.”
But my mind had already begun racing, clawing its way back to reality.
Fragments rushed in—Scotland, the cold, Vincent.
My chest tightened, and tears leaked from the corners of my eyes before l could stop them.
Alex didn’t ask questions, he simply reached out and rested his hand near mine not touching, just close enough to offer warmth if l wanted it.
I let myself cry.
"-"
how much later, I couldn’t tell, the doctor came. Words floated around me like foreign objects: internal bruising, fracture, recovery, then a pause, a shift in tone.
“And there’s something else,” the doctor said carefully, eyes kind but serious. “You’re pregnant.”
The room tilted.
The word landed like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, fingers curling protectively before fear followed close behind.
Vincent.
The thought came uninvited, sharp and unwelcome.
This was his.
A piece of a life that had already shattered beyond repair.
That night, sleep refused to come.
The ceiling stared back at me as thoughts collided violently inside my mind.
Fear whispered first, fear of being alone, of raising a child in the ruins of a broken marriage, of repeating mistakes l didn’t survive the first time.
Then guilt followed.
I turned onto my side, wincing, tears soaking into the pillow.
The idea formed slowly but firmly, wrapping itself around my exhaustion like a cruel kindness.
End it before it begins.
In the morning, Alex returned.
He brought coffee he didn’t drink and food he barely touched.
He noticed my red eyes immediately. “You didn’t sleep,” he said quietly.
I shook my head.
Silence stretched between us, thick with words I didn’t know how to say.
Finally, I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this.”
Alex didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t have anything left,”
I continued, staring at the blanket. “I have already given everything to someone who didn’t deserve it.”
“I can’t bring a child into that.”
He listened, truly listened, as he stared at my hand-full boobs, my lips as they move, he stared at my piercing blue eyes as though I were the only thing that matters to him, which rather makes me begin to feel awkward,
When l finished, he exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words with care.
“You just survived a fatal accident, something that should’ve killed you,” he said. “Most people don’t get that chance.”
I looked at him then, really looked at him.
Is not going to be easy, “I’m not saying it will, ,” Alex added. “But you won’t be alone. I won’t let you be.”
My throat tightened. “Why?”
He hesitated for the first time. “Because l couldn't walk away the moment I saw you on that road.
Something in his voice unsettled me, not pressure, not expectation, but certainty.
Days passed.
The decision weighed on me like gravity, pulling me down no matter how hard I tried to stand.
But slowly, something shifted. a flicker, a fragile, stubborn pulse of life l couldn’t ignore.
I chose to keep the baby.
When l told Alex, relief crossed his face so openly it startled me. “I’ll help you,” he said immediately. “In every way I can.”
And he did.
Upon my discharge, he arranged everything—housing, medical care, and stability.
He offered me a position in his company, not as charity, but as an opportunity.
A desk. a more reason to wake up and move on.
Still, l kept my distance.
Every smile I offered him was careful, every conversation guarded, when his hand brushed mine by accident, l pulled away before warmth could sink in.
My heart had learned the cost of openness, and it refused to pay again.
Alex noticed.
He never pushed.
But one evening, as I stood alone by the window of my new apartment, city lights flickering below, my phone buzzed in my hand.
An unfamiliar number.
My chest tightened as l opened the message.
I heard you were in an accident. We need to talk.
The name beneath the text made my blood run cold.
Vincent.
My fingers trembled.
Behind me , a knock sounded at the door.
I turned slowly, heart pounding, trapped between past and present
and wondered which one would destroy her first.
- Writer
