Stay With Me

Chapter 9: Learning to Live Again

Lily awoke to the soft hum of machinery and the sterile scent of antiseptic. She blinked against the harsh light, her body heavy and unresponsive, as if she were still trapped in the nightmare of the operating room. Panic surged through her chest, and she gasped, instinctively reaching for her stomach.

The memory of pain hit her like a wave—David's cold demand for an abortion, Sophia's smirk, and the searing betrayal that cut deeper than any scalpel. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the images, but they lingered like stubborn ghosts. Slowly, the fear ebbed as the soft, steady beep of the heart monitor anchored her to the present. She wasn't in the clinic anymore.

"Hey, you're awake." A calm, gentle voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

Lily turned her head, her vision still blurry, and saw a man seated by her bedside. His face was framed by soft curls, and his eyes, a soothing shade of blue, radiated warmth. He looked familiar, yet she couldn't place him.

"You're safe," he said, as if reading her mind. "You're in the hospital. I'm Ethan."

Lily's throat was dry, her voice barely a whisper. "What... what happened?"

"You lost a lot of blood," Ethan explained softly. "But you're going to be okay. I found you in time."

Lily's brow furrowed as she tried to piece together her memories. She remembered being wheeled into the operating room, the cold metal of the table beneath her, and the excruciating pain before everything went black. But how had Ethan found her? And why had he saved her?

Ethan's expression softened, as though sensing her confusion. "I was there to visit a friend when I saw you being rushed in. It didn't seem right—the way they were treating you. I pulled some strings and got you out of there."

Lily's heart pounded as she realized the gravity of his words. Ethan, a stranger, had done more for her in a single moment of compassion than her own family had ever done. Tears welled up in her eyes, not just from relief but from the overwhelming sorrow of all she had endured. She turned her face away, ashamed of her weakness.

"You don't have to be strong right now," Ethan said gently. "It's okay to let it out."

For the first time in years, Lily allowed herself to cry without restraint. She cried for the family that never loved her, the sister who had tormented her, and the husband who had betrayed her in the cruelest way imaginable. She cried for the child she never got to meet, whose tiny heartbeat had been snuffed out by callous indifference. And through it all, Ethan sat quietly by her side, a steadfast presence in her storm of grief.

Days turned into weeks, and Lily remained under Ethan's watchful care. He visited her daily, bringing warm meals and soft blankets, and filling her hospital room with fresh flowers that brightened the sterile white walls. He was patient, never pushing her to talk about her past but always ready to listen when she was ready. Slowly, Lily's physical wounds began to heal, but the scars inside her heart were far deeper.

One afternoon, as Lily gazed out the window, watching the leaves flutter in the breeze, Ethan entered with a small smile. He held a wrapped box in his hands, which he placed gently on her lap.

"What's this?" Lily asked, her voice still raspy from disuse.

"Open it," Ethan encouraged, his eyes twinkling with a hint of excitement.

Lily carefully unwrapped the box, her fingers trembling slightly. Inside was a sketchbook, bound in soft leather, with a set of colored pencils neatly tucked beside it. She stared at it, her mind flashing back to a time when she used to love drawing, back before her life had been consumed by darkness.