The Neighbor

Chapter 30

Wanda's eyes flutter open, her vision blurry with the remnants of an exhausted slumber. Her head is resting on your arm, the position uncomfortable but intimate, a physical manifestation of the vigil she's been keeping by your side. The early morning sun streams through the hospital window, casting a gentle light that bathes the room in a soft glow, lending a serene quality to the clinical surroundings.

For a moment, Wanda is disoriented, the peacefulness of the scene at odds with the tumultuous events that led to this point. As her gaze sharpens and her mind clears, the reality of the situation settles back upon her shoulders like a heavy cloak. She sits up slowly, her muscles stiff from the awkward sleeping position, her hand still clasping yours as if even in sleep, she couldn't bear to let go.

Wanda's eyes linger on your face, searching for any sign of change, any small indication that you're returning to her from the depths of your forced slumber. She notices the subtle play of sunlight across your features, lending them a softness, a peace that she hasn't seen since before the chaos erupted at the luncheon.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda tries to steady her racing heart, her mind awash with the fears and hopes that have been her constant companions since the explosion. She gently strokes your hand with her thumb, each movement a silent whisper of encouragement, a plea for you to wake up and rejoin the world that's less vibrant without you in it.

The room is quiet, the early morning stillness of the hospital a stark contrast to the busy, sometimes chaotic energy of the daytime hours. The only sounds are the soft beeping of the monitors and the distant hum of activity elsewhere in the building. It's in this tranquil dawn that Wanda allows herself a moment to reflect, to gather her strength for the day ahead.

She thinks about the boys, wondering if they've been told yet, how they're coping with the uncertainty surrounding your condition. Her heart aches at the thought of their confusion and worry, their young minds trying to understand why their mom isn't home with them.

Wanda's thoughts are interrupted by the soft click of the door opening. A nurse enters, her appearance a blend of professional efficiency and the warmth of someone who understands the personal battles being fought within these walls. She offers Wanda a small, sympathetic smile as she checks the monitors, making notes on her tablet.

"Good morning," the nurse says quietly, respecting the solemn atmosphere of the ICU room. "She had a stable night. No significant changes, which, under these circumstances, we take as a positive sign."

Wanda nods, absorbing the words, clinging to the 'positive sign' like a lifeline. "Thank you," she responds, her voice hoarse from sleep and stress.

"Can I get you anything?" the nurse asks, her eyes kind, understanding the toll this vigil is taking on Wanda.

"Just some coffee, please," Wanda replies, realizing only now the dryness of her throat and the weight of her fatigue.

"Of course, I'll bring it right away," the nurse says before stepping out, leaving Wanda alone again with you and her thoughts.

As Wanda waits for the coffee, lost in her thoughts and gazing at the play of sunlight across the room, she feels a subtle movement. Your finger twitches under hers, a slight, almost imperceptible motion, but to Wanda, it's as profound as a shout. Her head snaps to look at your face, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and disbelief.

She watches intently, holding her breath, wondering if it was just a reflex or a sign of you regaining consciousness. Seconds tick by, each one stretching out, filled with Wanda's silent urging for you to show another sign of awareness.

Then, it happens again. Your finger twitches, more distinctly this time, a clear indication that you're fighting your way back to consciousness. "Baby, can you hear me?" Wanda asks, her voice a blend of excitement and urgency. She squeezes your hand gently, encouraging any further response.