Jay pov
The hospital room felt impossibly quiet, except for the steady beeping of the monitors and the faint whoosh of machines keeping him alive. I sat beside Keifer's bed, clutching Kieran and Kiegan close, my hands shaking and tears running freely. Every day for the past week had been the same: waiting, praying, whispering to him, hoping he could hear my voice, hoping he would fight his way back to me.
I had lost track of time. Minutes had passed like seconds, hours had felt like minutes, and days had stretched into endless nights. I could barely sleep, could barely eat. All I could do was stare at him, memorizing every detail, every line of his face, willing him to open his eyes.
Kieran and Kiegan were quiet beside me, sensing the tension, holding onto my hands tightly. I whispered stories to Keifer as though he could hear me, telling him about our lives in the Philippines, about Section E, about the little things he loved—the way Kieran had tried to cook breakfast yesterday, or Kiegan's endless questions about everything. I knew he couldn't respond, but speaking to him kept me tethered to hope, kept me sane in a world that felt like it was collapsing around me.
And then, it happened.
A tiny movement—so small I almost didn't see it at first. His finger twitched.
Me (voice trembling, almost a whisper): "Keifer… no… please… wake up…"
I leaned closer and kissed his forehead gently, tears streaming down my cheeks. It felt like sending every ounce of love, every desperate plea, straight into him. I ran to call the doctor.
Me (voice shaking, shouting): "Doctor! Doctor! He… he moved! He's moving!"
The doctor rushed in immediately, checking his vitals, scanning the monitors, and giving me a cautious nod.
Doctor: "Jay… he's showing signs of regaining consciousness. But we need to let him open his eyes on his own. Stay calm and let it happen naturally."
I nodded, though my heart felt like it would burst. I returned to his bedside, holding Kieran and Kiegan closer than ever. Every second felt infinite. Then, impossibly slowly, he began to stir. His eyelids twitched. My breath hitched.
Me (voice breaking, whispering to him): "Keifer… please… wake up… please…"
And then… he did.
His eyes slowly opened. The world seemed to stop. I froze, terrified that he might not remember me. My mind raced—what if he didn't recognize me? What if the injury had erased all of us from his memory?
I stepped back slightly, holding my breath, preparing for the worst. But then, a weak, hoarse voice cut through my panic:
Keifer (calling softly): "Jay…"
My knees buckled, and I ran to him, throwing myself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
Me (through my tears): "Keifer! You're awake! You're alive! Oh my God… you're really awake!"
He held me tightly, his arms weak but steady, pulling me close like he would never let go.
Keifer (softly, whispering): "I… remember… you… Mrs. Watson… Jay…"
I couldn't believe it. Relief, joy, and love crashed over me all at once. I clung to him, feeling his heartbeat, feeling him alive in my arms.
The doctor, standing nearby, smiled gently.
Doctor: "He tried his absolute best to remember you. Some minor memories may be lost—things from before the injury—but he knows who you are, and that's what matters most."
I buried my face in his chest, sobbing, shaking, unable to speak. Kieran and Kiegan crept closer, holding onto both of us. For the first time in a week, I felt a sense of peace. He was back. He was here. He was mine.
The next day was a slow, careful process. Every movement he made, every small sign of awareness was a victory. I helped him sit up, fed him small bites, and made sure he rested. Even the tiniest smile from him felt like the sun breaking through endless clouds.
Finally, the day of his discharge came. I stayed by his side the entire time, holding his hand, guiding him carefully, and making sure he didn't overexert himself. The walk from the hospital room to the car felt like a journey toward freedom. I refused to let go of his hand for a second.
As we finally stepped out of the hospital into the cool London air, I felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude. He was alive. He had fought. And he was mine. I held him close, not letting go, my tears falling freely onto his shoulder.
And in that moment, everything else faded away. The fear, the panic, the endless nights of worry—they were all gone. He was here. He was alive. And I promised myself silently, with every fiber of my being: I would never leave him again. Not now, not ever.