QUENTIN
The hospital corridors seem quieter than usual. The low hum of machines, and the distant sounds of footsteps, all feel m u t e d, like the world is functioning just beyond my reach. I sit at my desk, staring at the pile of reports that I should be reviewing, but my mind is somewhere far away.
Micah's face, her bright smile, the way her eyes shone with hope every time we talked—those memories are burned into my thoughts.
It's been days since her passing, and I haven't been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her in that hospital bed, still, lifeless. The weight of it presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I thought I was strong enough to handle the losses that come with this profession, but Micah. . . she was d i f f e r e n t. Her death broke something in me.
I rub my temples, trying to push away the memories, but it's no use. I glance down at the note I've been scribbling, a half-formed thought that I've rewritten a dozen times.
I need some time away. I'll be gone for two to three months. Take care of things while I'm gone.
It's blunt, probably too brief, but I don't have the energy to explain more. My colleagues will understand. I'm leaving them in good hands.
I fold the note carefully and place it on top of my desk. Standing up feels like lifting a weight. My body is tired, my mind even more so. I take one last look around the office. The books on the shelves, the framed certificates on the wall—they all feel meaningless right now.
Everything here is a reminder of the life I've built, the life that used to feel fulfilling, but now? Now, it just feels empty.
As I walk out of the hospital, I feel a strange sense of finality, like I'm closing a chapter of my life, even if only temporarily. The air outside is crisp, the evening sun casting long shadows on the pavement. I pull out my phone and dial my parents' number.
"Quentin?" My mother's voice is warm, but there's concern beneath it. She's always had a way of knowing when something's wrong, even before I say anything.
"I'm coming home to our old house," I say, my voice hollow. "I need some time away. I'll be gone for a couple of months, maybe longer."
There's a pause on the other end, and then she asks softly, "What happened, Quentin?"
YOU ARE READING
Skies & Florets
RomanceShe has built a quiet life in her small-town flower shop, surrounded by the blooms she's always loved. But as the years pass, the memory of her childhood friend-the boy who once promised to be by her side-lingers like a ghost among the petals. Now g...
