What he lost

Isabel’s POV

Christine follows me into the car without asking. I don’t question it either. Maybe she sensed I wouldn’t be able to go alone. The ride to the hospital is quiet. Heavy. Like the weight in my chest has crawled into the silence between us.

Inside, the cold fluorescent light of the hospital lobby stings my eyes. I walk to the reception desk, ask for Alexander King, and the nurse, without glancing up, points down the corridor to the east wing.

“Room 307. Straight down, last on the right.”

I nod, murmuring a thank you, and start moving. Each step echoes in the white-tiled hallway. My palms feel clammy. Christine’s soft footsteps trail just behind mine, steady and quiet like a shadow.

I stop outside his door. His name—Alexander King—is printed in bold black letters on a small tag mounted beside the room. I take a breath, deep and shaky. Through the small glass panel in the door, I see him.

He’s alive.

His head is wrapped in a bandage, his ar