For days now, I've been stuck in this hospital bed. Bandaged. Weak. Useless. I can't even walk to the damn door without someone holding me like I'm made of glass. And maybe I am. I haven't been allowed to step outside, to breathe on my own terms. Just the same ceiling. The same sterile white. The same silence.
And not a single glimpse of Han.
Only Anne has visited. Once. And even then, she didn't stay long. She smiled, said I looked better, brought me flowers, and left without ever saying his name. His name—like it burned her mouth.
Not even Eric. He hasn't shown up at all. I know he's probably giving me space, thinking I need time to recover, but... his silence is too loud. It's heavy. It feels like guilt.
I tilted my head back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling again.
