The door stood opened, slightly swaying as if it has just been nudged. Vanessa didn't even notice at first. One moment she was staring at the pale hospital ceiling, the next, the threshold held a figure she recognized instantly. Her heart skipped. She realized only then that he had arrived while she was lost in her thoughts and observant, too wrapped up in herself to hear the soft freak or the hinge.
And there Mark was standing there like he'd been there all along, waiting for permission he no longer had.
He didn't step inside immediately.
He just stood at the threshold, holding a small bouquet of flowers in his left hand. White lilies. Too neat. Too deliberate. Like he'd stopped somewhere on the way and practiced how this would look. He was wearing a button down shirt, fitter coats on a black polisher shoe.
Her body remembered him before she did,
Her pulse spiked without permission.
That old, familiar pull.
Her sister walked in instantly.
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
Mark's eyes flicked to her, then back to Vanessa. He swallowed. "I just want to see her."
"You've seen enough," her sister snapped. "You've had days."
Vanessa finally looked at him.
He looked intact but not whole. His eyes were tired, but alert the kind of alert that came from rehearsing conversations in your head.
"Vanessa," he said quietly.
Just her name.
It settled uncomfortably.
She didn't answer.
Her sister crossed her arms. "You don't get to show up now and pretend this is concern."
"I'm not pretending," Mark said. He spoke evenly, measured, as if weighing every word. That same tone he used when he wanted to seem reasonable. "I brought flowers."
"That's not an apology," her sister said.
Mark nodded once. "I know."
He took a step inside.
Vanessa's heart jumped.
She hated that it did.
"Did you know I was here?" Vanessa asked suddenly.
The question cut through the tension like a blade. Mark stopped moving.
He looked at her then really looked. The IV in her arm. The bruises along her wrist. The way she was propped up by pillows like she couldn't trust her own body yet.
"Yes," he said.
Her fingers curled into the sheet.
"How long?" she asked.
"Since the first night."
Silence.
Her sister let out a sharp laugh. "Unbelievable."
Vanessa stared at him. "And you didn't come."
Mark's jaw tightened. "I didn't think—"
"No," she interrupted, her voice steady. "Don't. Just answer the question."
He exhaled slowly. "No. I didn't come."
There it was.
Plain and sharp, no mistaking it.
"Why?" Vanessa asked.
Mark hesitated.
That hesitation did something irreversible.
"I thought giving you space was the right thing," he said carefully. "You were hurt. Angry. I didn't want to make it worse."
Her sister stepped forward. "You don't get to decide what she needs."
Mark didn't look away from Vanessa. "I wasn't trying to be cruel."
Vanessa laughed quietly. "That's the worst part. You never are."
The words surprised even her.
Mark flinched.
She shifted slightly in the bed, pain flaring, but she didn't let it show. "Do you know what I thought when I woke up here?"
He didn't answer.
"I thought, at least he'll come now," she said. "At least this will be the thing that makes him choose me."
Her voice didn't break. That scared her more than tears would have.
"I waited," she continued. "Every time footsteps passed the door, I waited."
Mark looked down at the flowers in his hand.
"You weren't there," she said. "So don't tell me this is about space."
Her sister's eyes softened as she watched Vanessa. Proud. Furious. Protective.
"I came as soon as I could," Mark said quietly.
Vanessa shook her head. "No. You came when you were ready."
She couldn't look away, it was there real and unyielding.
Mark stepped closer to the bed, stopping just short of touching her. "I'm sorry."
It was an apology, buy only halfway said, half formed, unresolved.
"For what?" Vanessa asked.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Words refused him. "For hurting you." he said finally, faltering each syllable like it code him. Vanessa didn't move. Didn't blink. He tried once more, voice catching this time: "I… I'm sorry. I never wanted this to happen."
"That's vague," her sister said sharply.
Mark's eyes flicked to her. "I'm talking to Vanessa."
Vanessa raised a hand. "It's fine."
She looked back at him. "You're sorry you hurt me. Or you're sorry this looks bad?"
His silence answered.
She nodded slowly. "I need you to leave."
The words felt unreal as they left her mouth. Like she was saying them for someone else.
Mark blinked. "What?"
"I don't want to do this," she said. "Not here. Not like this."
"I just got here," he said.
"And I just survived being hit by a car," she replied softly. "We're both late."
Her sister moved toward the door again. "You heard her."
Mark took a breath, steadying himself. "Vanessa, please. Let me explain."
"There will always be an explanation," she said. "I'm tired of them."
He looked at her like he was searching for the version of her that would soften. The one who would say okay. The one who would let him stay.
She wasn't there anymore.
Mark stepped back.
Slowly, deliberately, he set the flowers down on the chair beside the bed.
"For you," he said.
She didn't reach for them.
He hesitated, then leaned in.
Vanessa froze.
He kissed her forehead light, careful, almost reverent.
It wasn't romantic, it was the kind of kiss that settled everything and nothing at once
"Take care of yourself," he said quietly.
Then he turned and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The room held him only in memory. He was gone, and the air felt heavier for it. Vanessa stared at the ceiling.
Her sister sat back down slowly. "You did the right thing."
Vanessa didn't answer.
Her eyes drifted to the flowers. White. Perfect. Untouched.
What if she hadn't?
What if this was the last time she'd see hjm?
A weight coiled in her chest. tight. Unrelenting
She closed her eyes, unsure whether she'd chosen freedom or condemn herself to a lifetime of wondering