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72

A whirlwind of events suddenly surround me, a rush of activity that fills Elena's room with purpose. Nurses rush in, lights flicker on, and machines hum to life. The air buzzes with urgency, choreographed chaos unfolding before my eyes. I am quickly shooed away from Elena's bed as the nurses begin to perform tests on her. 

"Is she really awake?" I croak, wanting it to be true so badly and not knowing if I can handle any other answer than yes. 

A short and plump nurse named Margaret, who has quickly become my favorite out of the bunch after always 'forgetting' to ask me to leave at night, turns to me. Margaret reminds me of that sweet grandma you see in movies who always bakes homemade cookies for her grandchildren. She has been my rock here— always offering me words of encouragement, letting me watch as she redresses Elena's bandages, reminding me to eat, and giving me even the tiniest updates on her condition.

Margaret nods, and the small but significant reassurance lifts a massive weight off my chest. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

All eyes turn as Dr. Boven, Elena's attending physician, enters the room. "Not a bad call get to start my shift this morning!" he says, his grin contagious. He's become a familiar face that has brought both information and hope over these last few weeks. 

He sits down next to Elena in the chair I was just sitting in, and I hold my breath. 

"Elena? Can you hear me?" he asks. No response. But I swear I see the tiniest sway of her head again.

Dr. Boven's gaze remains steady, his expression neither disappointed nor concerned, which eases my nerves slightly. He reaches out, holding her hand in his. "Elena, can you squeeze my hand?"

My heart leaps in my chest as I see Elena's fingers squeeze around his hand. "Very good!" he grins. "Elena, can you stick your tongue out?" 

I want to jump up and down and scream as I see Elena part her lips ever so slightly, and the tip of her tongue just barely peeks out between her lips. 

Tears of relief stream down my cheeks Margaret pulls me into a hug. She chuckles softly, "That wife of yours, she's really a fighter." 

When I first arrived at the hospital and was told only immediate family could see Elena, I lied to the receptionist, claiming to be her husband so I could get in. I'm going to marry her anyway, so it didn't really feel like a lie. 

I sniffle, hugging Margaret back. "I can't believe she's finally waking up."

Dr. Boven's tests continue, each one a milestone in Elena's journey to recovery. The room is charged with anticipation as he reaches a pivotal question.

"Elena, can you try to open your eyes?" His voice is gentle yet firm, a challenge for her to meet. I can't help but study her face, where stitches that will become a permanent scar mark her left cheek and where bruises linger as painful reminders of her struggle. 

I hold my breath, and then, finally, I see it— the flutter of her eyelids. The sight of her beautiful gray eyes, the ones I've missed more than anything.

They're extremely droopy, though, and she can only keep them open for a couple of seconds before they close again. 

Dr. Boven's next words are a lifeline, a reassurance that she's on the right path. "Very good Elena. I want you to know that you are in the hospital, but you are safe and are in very good hands. It's completely normal to feel very tired and unable to move right now. But soon, you'll feel more alert."

Elena's heart rate spikes suddenly, her head swaying a little more heavily. It keeps rising... and rising... and rising. 

I run over to her bed, holding her hand in my own. "Sunshine..." I whisper. "I'm here baby, you don't have to be scared, I'm here now."