My Husband, Whose Heart Belongs To Another.

31. CHAMPAGNE, perhaps a new beginning

I drew in a deep breath as I stood in front of a white door, the number 305 written on it. Not sparing a second more, I took hold of the knob and pushed open the door. I walked straight to the couch and took off my coat. I left both the purse and coat on the couch before heading to the side table.

I exchanged the slightly withered flowers with the fresh ones I got. While doing that, I shifted my eyes to the patient that laid still on the bed, eyes shut, oxygen pipes up into his nostrils and the support machine beeping at intervals. I attempted a smile but I'm unable to broaden it.

"Good morning." I greeted as I drew closer to him, having a seat on the bed beside him. I stared at his sleeping face for a while before taking hold of his hand in mine.

"Dr. Susan says I'm getting better so..." I drew in a deep breath, dragging my eyes up to his face.

"... you need to wake up." I added, a part of me, hoping and praying he suddenly wakes up but after what seemed like forever of staring and getting no reaction from him, I felt the tears whirl up in my eyes and although I fought hard to refrain them from clouding any further in my eyes, I'm unable to properly do that as hurtful memories overwhelm my thoughts once more.

In the end, I lowered my eyes as the tears rolled down my cheeks. The memory of that faithful day felt so fresh in my head and each second of that moment has haunted me.

After the accident, I had woken up two days later at this very hospital. Luckily, I didn't have much of internal damages, more of broken bones and a slight swell here and there. I remember asking for Christian right away but I was told to rest first. Regardless of how adamant I was, I was injected with something that sent me right back to sleep.

The next time I was conscious, I remember sitting up and waiting for Emerson to just tell me what was going on. She had facially expressed how difficult whatever she had to say was being on her. That alone triggered my panic button. All I wanted to hear was that he was alive and doing fine. I didn't think I could ever live with the guilt of being the reason he's dead.

Eventually, Emerson opened her mouth and the words rolled out. I remember zoning out, the only sentence I picked up was... "He suffered a serious hit to the head and right now... the doctors can't predict when he'll wake up."

I froze for a while, unable to process her information. "Are... are you saying he could... he could stay in coma... forever?"

The question had felt heavy but nothing tore me more than to hear the word possibly roll out of her mouth. I cried and cried even more when I first saw him in this state.

Ever since, I couldn't stop blaming myself for his condition. Christian didn't deserve this. If only I hadn't insisted on driving that night. If only...

I bowed my head and sobbed some more.

For the past two years and some months, I come here, I spend the entire day by his side, taking care of him, waiting and hoping that this day might just be the day he wakes up but... he never does and the worst part is the feeling... the voice in my head that tells me that I might never hear his voice again.

A stared at my reflection in the mirror after rinsing my face. My eyes were red and my complexion seemed paler than ever. Sincerely, I don't know how much longer I can hang in there. I'm exhausted but I know I can give never give up... not as long as he breathes.

I dried my face with a towel before making my way out of the bathroom. I took my seat on a chair beside his bed, my eyes rested on his face and in that moment, my wait started. Most times, I chatted like he was actually listening and I mentioned activities we could do together, urging him to wake up.