Chasing Shadows
1108 Words
Gabriel had not planned to come back to the hospital.
In truth, he had tried not to think about it at all—tried to bury the memory of sterile hallways and humming machines beneath the routines of his days. But some places did not let go so easily. Some buildings remembered you. They carried echoes. And this one carried too many.
Still, on the sixth day after Victoria’s surgery, his feet brought him there without permission from his mind.
He parked crookedly, halfway over the faded white line, and sat in the car longer than necessary, gripping the steering wheel as if it might steady him. The hospital rose ahead of him—unchanged, indifferent. People came and went through its glass doors carrying flowers, folders, hope, grief. The building swallowed them all the same.
Gabriel exhaled, hard, and stepped out.
Inside, the smell hit him first. Antiseptic. Clean, unforgiving. It scraped against the back of his throat and brought with it a sudden, unwelcome memory of Victoria lying pale against white sheets, eyes half-lidded, voice barely there. He shook his head, as if he could dislodge the image.
She survived, he told himself.
At least, that was what silence suggested.
He approached the nurses’ station slowly, rehearsing his words in his head, discarding them just as quickly. Apologies felt too small. Demands felt dangerous. He needed information—something solid to hold on to.
The nurse on duty was young. Not new, but not hardened either. Her hair was pulled back neatly, her expression neutral as she typed into the system. Gabriel waited until she looked up.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I’m looking for information about a patient,” he said, keeping his voice low, reasonable. “Victoria Bathram.”
The nurse’s fingers paused above the keyboard. Her eyes flicked to him, then to the screen.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a beat. “Are you family?”
“I’m her husband.”
That word—husband—felt strange in his mouth. Too fragile. Like it might shatter if examined too closely.
The nurse’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it tightened slightly.
“I can’t release any patient information without proper authorization.”
“I don’t need details,” Gabriel said quickly. “Just… confirmation. Or her address. She was discharged, right? I just need to see her. To apologize.”
The nurse straightened. “Sir, I understand this is difficult, but patient confidentiality—”
“I know the policies,” Gabriel interrupted, his patience thinning. “But this isn’t some stranger. She’s my wife. I made mistakes, yes, but I have a right to know where she is.”
Her jaw set.
“No, sir. You don’t.”
That stopped him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t have the right,” she repeated, more firmly now. “Not unless she gives consent. And she hasn’t.”
Something inside him twisted.
“She wouldn’t—” He stopped himself. He didn’t know what Victoria would or wouldn’t do anymore. That was the problem.
“Please,” he said instead. “I just need her file. Or her emergency contact. Something.”
The nurse shook her head. “If I do that, I could lose my job.”
Gabriel glanced around. The waiting area was quiet. A few patients sat hunched over their phones. No one was paying them any attention.
He lowered his voice further. “I can make it worth your while.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Excuse me?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, slid a few bills onto the counter—tentative, hopeful.
The nurse didn’t even look at the money.
“Sir,” she said coolly, “put that away.”
“I’m not trying to insult you,” Gabriel said, his voice rising despite himself. “I’m desperate.”
“And I’m not corrupt,” she replied. “This conversation is over.”
Something snapped.
“You think I don’t know I messed up?” Gabriel burst out. Heads turned. “You think I don’t wake up every day regretting it? She’s my wife. My wife. I just want to see her. To apologize. To beg if I have to. I want her file.”
The nurse stood. “Sir—”
“I did wrong,” he continued, louder now, grief cracking through his anger. “But that doesn’t erase eight years. Eight years of marriage. She doesn’t get to disappear like I never existed.”
“That’s enough.”
The voice came from behind him.
Gabriel turned to see a doctor approaching—middle-aged, calm, authority woven into his posture. He had seen this man before. During rounds. During long nights.
“You’re causing a disturbance,” the doctor said evenly. “There are other patients here.”
“She’s my wife,” Gabriel insisted again, as if repetition might make it true. “I just need to see her.”
The doctor regarded him carefully.
“I understand you’re distressed,” he said. “But the nurse is doing her job. There are appropriate channels for this.”
“What channels?” Gabriel demanded. “She’s gone. No calls. No address. Nothing.”
“That,” the doctor said gently but firmly, “ This is not the hospital’s responsibility.”
Silence stretched.
“You need to leave,” the doctor continued. “Now. If you continue to harass staff, I will call the security on you.”
Something in Gabriel’s shoulders sagged. The fight drained out of him all at once, leaving behind only exhaustion and a hollow ache.
He looked at the nurse again. She avoided his gaze.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
The automatic doors slid open. The sunlight outside felt harsh, exposing. He stood there for a moment, breathing, as if relearning how.
Then he walked to his car.
The drive home passed in a blur. Traffic lights changed. Pedestrians crossed. Life continued with an almost offensive normalcy.
When he reached the house, it was already evening.
Prisca was in the living room.
She looked up when he entered, eyes sharp, assessing. “Where were you?”
Gabriel didn’t answer.
He walked past her, straight toward the bedroom, shrugging off his jacket as if it weighed too much.
“Gabriel?” she called after him. “I asked you something.”
He stopped in the doorway but did not turn around.
The silence stretched—heavy, deliberate.
Prisca’s lips parted, irritation flashing across her face.
“I said, where were you coming from?”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
- Writer
