Sean rushed to the hospital, spoke briefly at the reception, and made his way toward the room Reva had been shifted to.
Nothing could have prepared him for it.
She lay there — eyes closed, an IV in her arm, an oxygen mask over her face. The world quietly shattered somewhere inside him.
We were just fine. The thought made no sense and every sense at once.
He walked toward her bed, heavy footed, when the doctor turned to him.
Pointed him with pen asking if he is her family he nodded and continued as
" actually its Vasovagal Syncope triggered by Acute Stress Response," he said with practiced calm. "She experienced a vasovagal episode. Her vitals show signs of acute stress response — likely triggered by emotional and physical exhaustion. BP dropped significantly. That's what caused the fall."
He said it the way doctors always do — clean, clinical, efficient. Then turned to the attending nurse running through the checklist. "IV fluids administered. ECG done, cardiac causes ruled out. Blood pressure under observation. Rest and monitoring — minimum twenty four hours."
The nurse nodded, making her notes.
But Sean heard none of the medical language for what it was. Underneath every term, every checked box, he heard only one thing —
She collapsed because she was breaking inside.
He knew. Without anyone having to tell him.
His eyes were red. His reply to the doctor was a single stumbled "okay." The genuine helplessness on his face said everything his voice couldn't. The doctor left. The nurse followed, stepping out for a moment.
Sean pulled the chair close, sat beside her, and took her hand — folding it carefully between both of his like something that needed warming. Like something that had been cold for too long without him knowing.
He didn't try to hold it together.
He cried — the kind of crying that only happens when you've come terrifyingly close to losing someone and your body finally lets itself acknowledge it.
His head dropped. The words he'd whispered to himself before sleeping came back to him now, sharp and clear.
I'll be there. Until I turn to ashes.
It felt like the universe had heard him and decided to test every single syllable.
"If you keep squeezing my hand that tight, the needle's going to make sure I leave with a swollen one."
The voice was dry. Barely there. But it was hers.
Sean looked up. Wiped his face fast. Gave her the most bewildered what on earth look he was capable of producing.
Reva caught it immediately.
"Okay — before you say anything, don't kill me with those eyes". Her voice was hoarse but her expression was already defensive in that very specific Reva way. "After we parted I doom scrolled for hours, then my stomach started acting up so I ordered some light soup. Went to shower. I don't remember the specifics but somewhere between the shower and the bed I ended up on the floor. And now — here."
She'd wanted to say it faster but her dry throat had other plans. He listened to every word. Not just heard — understood.
[Reva — internal]
I know I'm causing him so much trouble right now.
But after two days of this emotional rollercoaster — if I told him the truth. That I was standing in front of that mirror after my shower and something just crawled through my entire body. Every memory of Elliot rushing back. The very first day. How completely and foolishly I fell for him. How hard I hit the ground when it ended.
I can't. I can't risk explaining that to him right now.
So I won't.
When I woke up my hand was still folded between his — held like a child clutching a favorite thing that had nearly been taken from them.
And who would have thought. Itsy bitsy Sean. Absolute crybaby.
We didn't say much after that. We didn't need to. We just sat in that quiet understanding of — we're okay. We're okay.
The client meeting had already been postponed once and now with this, there was no option left. Sean would have to attend it alone. I felt genuinely terrible about it but he wouldn't hear a single word of argument — rest, few days, he handles it, end of discussion. Stubborn as ever.
He left for the meeting in the morning.
The nurse came in almost on the same beat, walking toward me with the particular energy of someone who had already formed several opinions.
She went through her checks quietly. Then, just as she was heading back out, she paused at the door.
"Well — your husband is quite something." A small smile. "The way he came through that door. Eyes completely red, scanning every corner of this room until the doctor moved and he could finally see you." She tilted her head. "You hit the jackpot, girl. Make sure you know that."
She left before I could respond.
HUSBAND?.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment.
I wanted to clarify. I genuinely did. But there was simply not enough energy left in my body to unpack that particular situation for a near stranger. So I let it go.
My reports came back better. The numbers were moving in the right direction and I could feel it — that slow return of something functional in my limbs. The doctor cleared me for a short walk. Just few walks around hospital garden. Nothing ambitious.
I stepped out of the room.
***
The corridor felt longer than it should have.
Reva moved slowly, one hand trailing the wall, making her way toward the main entrance. With help of nurse she took walk for just air. Just a few minutes outside. That was all she needed.
She didn't make it far.
The sound hit first — rushed footsteps, urgent voices, the specific controlled chaos that only means one thing in a hospital. A stretcher came fast around the corner, nurses moving with purpose, a woman on it — clothes torn, face pale, blood covering her in a way that made Reva's stomach turn immediately.
And then — running behind it.
Elliot.
His hands were covered in blood. His eyes were soaked, red, devastated in a way she had never seen on him before. Not once. Not in all the years she had known him.
He passed right through her space — his head turning briefly, eyes catching hers for half a second — and then his gaze moved back to the stretcher. To her. Whoever she was. Like nothing else in that corridor existed.
Reva stood frozen.
Elliot. Tensed. Worried. Falling apart.
She had never seen him like this. Not once.
She tried to follow. Her legs had other plans. The weakness crept up without warning — her stomach cramped sharply, her legs went numb beneath her, and the corridor tilted.
She collapsed near the reception.
When she opened her eyes she was back in the room.
Same ceiling. Same IV. Same bed.
She blinked once. Twice.
No Sean standing in the corner ready to say something that was equal parts concern and exasperation.
Just the quiet.
She exhaled. That was either a relief or somehow worse — she couldn't decide which.
A couple of hours passed before her body felt cooperative enough to sit upright. The nurse came in for her routine check and Reva didn't waste time.
"The accident case — the woman they brought in on the stretcher. Her name was Sasha?"
The nurse looked up from her notes. Something softened slightly in her expression.
"Yes. She lost a significant amount of blood but she was admitted in time. The operation just finished — doctor updated us a short while ago. She's stable." She tucked her clipboard under her arm. "I tried reaching your husband when you collapsed but couldn't get through. We spoke just now — he's on his way."
She left to continue her rounds.
Reva stared at the ceiling.
Husband again.
And then — Sean is on his way.
She could already hear it. The look he would give her. The silence that would be louder than anything he said. She was going to get an earful and she knew it completely and absolutely.
She set that aside for now.
She took Sasha's ward details from the nurse before she disappeared. She'd visit once Sean arrived. It felt like the only right thing to do.
This world moves so suddenly.
The thought settled in her chest, heavier than expected.
A perfectly healthy person. Not even a couple of days ago. And now — ICU, operation, machines keeping pace where her body couldn't.
Sasha had seemed warm. Genuinely warm, the kind of person whose energy made a room feel lighter just by being in it. And now she was lying somewhere in this building with a face one barely wanted to picture.
She deserves care. She deserves people.
Her family would be there — of course they would.
***
Reva had no real place in that white door room . No history, no claim, no reason.
But as human. And sometimes that was reason enough.
After Sean got informed all details on call by Reva on his way. Sean reached hospital holding a bag Reva's cloths. They both left the room to find Sasha.
She found the room. Pushed the door gently with him.
Sasha lay in the bed — leg in plaster, IV running, oxygen mask in place, small cuts visible on her face and arms. She looked fragile in the way people only do when you've seen them any other way first.
Elliot was there.
Sitting beside her, eyes fixed on Sasha, that same devastation still written across every line of his face. He seemed composed on the surface — barely. The kind of composed that is one exhale away from collapse.
The few steps Reva took into the room were enough.
He heard her. Looked up.
And something in him broke open completely.
The way he looked at her — like he'd been holding the weight of the last several hours entirely alone and his body simply refused to do it anymore. He didn't stand. He reached out from where he sat, pulled her close, pressed his forehead against her and let go.
No sound. No words.
Just tears finding their way down quietly. The kind of crying that has nowhere dramatic to go — it just falls. Warm and exhausted and entirely without performance.
Reva stood there. One hand rising slowly to rest on his shoulder.
Her chest full of something she couldn't name.
The irony wasn't lost on her — not even slightly.
She had collapsed hours ago over memories of him. Over the ghost of feelings she thought she'd buried. And here he was now, falling apart in her arms — over someone else entirely.
This world moves so suddenly.
And hearts — she was beginning to think — never quite move the way you expect them to.
Sean seeing all this from distance. Reva turned her face to Sean with teary eyes screaming for him.
No words came. Just a single nod and his hand over his heart — steady, certain. Here. Always here.