The room smelled like antiseptic and metal. Machines blinked in slow rhythm beside her bed, the only proof she was still alive. Clara lay staring at the ceiling, too weak to move, too tired to hope. Every breath felt borrowed, every heartbeat a quiet reminder that she was still here — and he wasn’t.
He had promised he’d stay. Promised he’d be there through everything — the sickness, the fear, the long nights when she couldn’t sleep. But promises don’t mean much when the person who made them walks away. The last time she saw Evan, he was standing at the door, saying something about needing space. She remembered nodding, too drained to argue.
Now, there was only silence. No calls. No visits. Just the echo of a life she once shared with someone who couldn’t bear to watch her fade. The world outside moved on, but inside that room, time stopped. And as the days passed, one thought kept her awake — he hadn’t just left her.