The hospital had a way of making time feel strange.
Hours blurred together.
Lights stayed too bright or too dim.
And every sound—every monitor beep, every distant announcement—felt like it belonged somewhere else.
In Ellie's room, everything was quiet again.
Too quiet, Lillian thought.
Her daughter was finally asleep.
Properly asleep this time, after the medication had settled the fever enough to let her rest without constant discomfort.
Lillian sat beside the bed, one hand resting lightly on the small rise and fall of Ellie's chest.
Just to be sure.
Just to feel it.
She told herself it was irrational.
But she didn't move her hand.
Earlier, Ellie had woken briefly.
Just long enough to look up at her.
Her eyes were still tired, still glassy, but calmer now.
"Mommy… sad?"
The question had been so simple it hurt.
Lillian had smiled immediately.
Softly.
Carefully.
"No, sweetheart. I'm okay."
Ellie had stared at her for a moment, unconvinced.
Then reached out and wrapped her small arms around Lillian's neck anyway.
No words.
Just warmth.
And then she had fallen back asleep.
Now, Lillian sat alone in the dim hospital room.
But her mind wasn't here.
It kept going back.
Back to the corridor.
Back to the sound of footsteps.
Back to the stretcher rushing past.
Back to Sebastian's face.
Unconscious.
Pale.
Motionless.
And the words she had overheard:
Possible liver failure.
Alcohol-related complications.
Found unconscious.
Her chest tightened again.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them.
Because every time she did, she saw him again.
A soft knock came at the door.
Thomas stepped in first.
Caroline followed.
Neither of them said anything immediately.
They didn't need to.
They could see it on her face.
"You haven't moved," Caroline said gently.
Lillian exhaled slowly.
"I'm fine."
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
"You're doing that thing where you say that when you're not."
Despite everything, Lillian let out a small breath that almost became a laugh.
Almost.
Caroline sat beside her.
"Ellie stable?"
Lillian nodded.
"Yes. Better."
That at least was true.
It helped.
A little.
Thomas crossed his arms.
"You're still thinking about him."
It wasn't a question.
Lillian didn't answer right away.
Then:
"I saw him like that."
Her voice was quieter than she intended.
Silence followed.
Caroline's expression softened slightly.
"What exactly did you hear?"
Lillian hesitated.
Then repeated what she had overheard in fragments.
When she finished, the room felt heavier.
"Liver failure," Caroline repeated slowly.
Thomas frowned.
"That doesn't happen overnight."
Lillian nodded slightly.
"I know."
But her voice suggested she didn't like knowing it.
Because knowing meant understanding.
And understanding meant accepting that this hadn't been sudden.
It had been building.
For years.
Without her there to see it.
Caroline reached for her hand.
"You didn't cause this."
Lillian didn't pull away.
But she didn't fully agree either.
Because her mind was already doing what it always did when she felt helpless:
Replaying everything.
The drinking.
The distance.
The breakup.
The resignation.
The way she had walked away thinking she was protecting him.
Thomas broke the silence gently.
"Are you going to see him?"
The question landed harder than expected.
Lillian looked down at her hands.
"I don't know."
And she meant it.
Because logically, she had no reason to go.
They weren't together.
They hadn't been for three years.
And yet—
She had seen him unconscious in a hospital corridor.
And something about that image refused to leave her mind.
A doctor came in briefly afterward to check on Ellie.
Good news followed.
The fever was responding.
Her breathing was stable.
She would likely recover fully with rest and observation.
Relief softened the edges of the room slightly.
Not enough to erase everything else.
But enough to make it easier to breathe.
Later, Caroline went to get coffee.
Thomas stepped out to make a call.
Lillian stayed behind.
Alone again.
She sat quietly for a moment.
Then stood.
And without really deciding to, she left the room.
The hospital corridor outside was quieter now.
Less chaotic than earlier.
But still full of movement.
Life and emergency existing side by side.
She walked slowly.
Not sure where she was going.
Just moving.
Until she found herself near a nurses' station.
Voices drifted from behind it.
Unfiltered.
Unaware she was listening.
"The Wolfe patient?"
"Yeah. The CEO."
"Apparently this isn't the first time."
Lillian stopped.
Not intentionally.
Just instinct.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I heard he's been in before. Same issues."
Another voice lowered slightly.
"It's been going on for years, I think."
Years.
The word settled heavily in her chest.
She didn't hear the rest clearly.
Because her mind had already latched onto that.
Years.
Not a sudden collapse.
Not a one-time crisis.
Years.
Her stomach tightened slightly.
She stepped back from the station.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if moving too quickly might make everything worse.
Because suddenly the image of Sebastian on that stretcher wasn't just alarming.
It was part of a pattern.
A pattern she hadn't seen.
Or hadn't been allowed to see.
Or had been too far away to notice.
She turned a corner and leaned against the wall for a moment.
Her breath felt uneven.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Three years.
And in all that time, he had been like this?
Or getting worse?
Alone?
She swallowed hard.
Then pushed herself upright again.
That was when she saw Chloe.
"Hey."
Chloe stopped immediately when she saw her face.
"Okay, that's not a good expression."
Lillian gave a weak shake of her head.
"I saw him."
Chloe's expression shifted instantly.
"What?"
Lillian told her.
Everything.
The stretcher.
The ICU.
The overheard conversation.
By the time she finished, Chloe was quiet.
Unusually so.
"I always thought he'd slow down," Chloe said finally.
Lillian gave a small, humorless laugh.
"So did I."
Later, Lillian found herself alone again.
The hospital felt colder at night.
Or maybe she was just more aware of it now.
She walked slowly toward the ICU wing without fully intending to.
The sign above the doors glowed softly.
Restricted Access.
Intensive Care Unit.
She stopped just short of it.
Just far enough away that she wasn't technically there.
Just close enough that she could see the doors.
Behind those doors, Sebastian was somewhere.
Unconscious.
Fighting something she still didn't fully understand.
Three years ago, she had walked away from him believing space would help them both.
Believing distance would heal what had broken.
Now she wasn't sure what had happened in that distance.
Only that it hadn't healed him.
Her hand lifted slightly.
Then stopped.
She didn't go forward.
Not yet.
Instead she stood there.
Watching the doors.
Breathing slowly.
Trying to decide what she was even allowed to feel.
Because none of this made sense anymore.
None of it fit neatly into the life she had built.
After a long moment, she exhaled.
Then turned away.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if leaving required effort.
As she walked back toward Ellie's room, one thought stayed with her.
Unwanted.
Unshakable.
Inside those doors was the man she once loved.
And for the first time in three years—
she wasn't sure she could afford to lose him completely.