I inhaled sharply, and the pain punished me for it. Clara lifted a straw to my lips.
“Small sip.”
The water tasted like mercy.
I swallowed and tried again. “Did they get it?”
She glanced toward the door.
“The surgeon will explain everything, but yes. The procedure went better than expected.”
I closed my eyes.
Better than expected.
Not perfect. Not miraculous. But enough.
Enough to keep breathing.
Enough to remember.
Evan.
His text came back like a blade sliding between my ribs.
We’re getting a divorce, Jessica. I don’t need the burden of a sick wife.
The pain in my body suddenly seemed honest. The pain from Evan was dirty. Cowardly. It had no right to exist inside a hospital room where people fought so hard to stay alive.
Then another memory surfaced.
Mark.
The chair by my bed.
His calm voice.
The trash in your life has finally taken itself out.
My insane joke.
If I survive this, maybe we should just get married and call it a day.
His answer.
Okay.
My eyes opened.
“Mark,” I whispered.
