Damon’s POV
The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and the lingering aroma of cleaning supplies. Morning light crept through the blinds, sharp and unforgiving, cutting across the pale walls. I sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed into my knees, staring at the floor as if it held the answers I was looking for. My ribs throbbed with the reminder of bruises and stitches, but it was the weight in my chest that burned hotter—the knowledge that I’d let her slip away. Isabella.
Discharge papers sat on the bedside table, untouched. I didn’t move until the nurse knocked softly and wheeled the clipboard in.
“Mr. Whitmore, your doctor cleared you for discharge,” she said, her voice polite but firm. “Someone will need to take you home. Do you have arrangements?”
I nodded without spea
