BURNING DESIRE

Chapter 31

The room was cloaked in a sombre stillness, the rhythmic beeping of machines punctuating the silence like an anxious heartbeat. Shadows danced along the walls, cast by a single flickering fluorescent light overhead. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavily in the air, mingling with an undercurrent of desperation. I walked over to the bedside and pulled up a chair, its metal legs scraping against the linoleum floor—a sound that felt painfully loud in this hushed sanctuary of hope and despair. Winter lay there, her once vibrant spirit now trapped within fragile limbs; her chest rose and fell with mechanical precision, each breath a reminder of how life could hang so delicately in the balance. Taking hold of her hand felt both surreal and grounding. Her skin was cool beneath my fingers, yet I clung to it as if it were an anchor tethering me to reality. "Winter," I murmured softly into the void that surrounded us. "I don't know if you can hear me, but Oliver needs you—fuck's sake, I need you." My voice cracked under the weight of my emotions as I pressed her hand against my cheek; Tears blurred my vision as I leaned closer, kissing her hand and holding it against my cheek—a desperate plea for warmth that wasn't there. "I want us to be a family, Winter. Please baby wake up... please." Each word was laced with an urgency that felt almost palpable in the air between us.

"I want us to be a family, and I'm falling in love with you," I confessed into the stillness surrounding us. "I knew you were something special that night we met." It had been at that dingy bar downtown where our eyes locked over glasses of cheap wine—a moment so electric it could have sparked flames around us. Her laughter had been infectious then; now it echoed painfully in my mind. As tears streamed down my face unchecked, I felt helplessness clawing at me from all sides. "I can't do this alone, Winter," I said softly through choked breaths. "Oliver only has us." I waited for a response, but
instead, all I got was hollow silence filled with beeping machines and muted conversations from passing nurses.

"I really don't want to leave you," I said aloud now chuckling softly despite myself. "But I can hear you nagging me right now." A fleeting vision crossed my mind: Winter's playful scowl

"You would be telling me Oliver needs me and that I should be there for him," I continued wistfully. "I am his dad after all." My resolve solidified; she needed rest—and so did I—for Oliver's sake if nothing else. Kissing her forehead tenderly one last time felt both like sealing away part of myself and giving strength back to her spirit; it was bittersweet magic woven together by love and fear alike.

As I stepped out of the room into the sterile corridor bustling with nurses and doctors rushing by with purpose etched upon their faces, reality hit hard—the gravity of fatherhood settled upon my shoulders like an invisible cloak woven from responsibility and yearning. "Time to step up and be a dad," I muttered under my breath as each footfall echoed down hallways painted in shades too bright for comfort—everything felt surreal yet achingly real at once.

The door creaked open, and I stepped into the dimly lit hallway of my childhood home The familiar scent of old wood mingled with a hint of lavender air freshener—a futile attempt by my mother to mask the lingering tension that seemed woven into every thread of our lives. As I walked through, an oppressive silence enveloped me, interrupted only by the muffled sound of my heart racing in my chest.  There she was—my mum—perched on the worn-out sofa like a sentinel guarding secrets too heavy to bear. Her arms were crossed tightly, her brows knitted together in a fierce scowl that could cut glass. "Please Mum," I began, desperation threading through my voice like an unwanted guest. "Can I just first check on Oliver and have a shower? First"

She didn't respond; instead, her eyes bore into me with an intensity that made it clear she was waiting for something—an apology. An explanation? Either way, I felt the weight of her scrutiny as I turned and walked away.  Upstairs in the spare room, warmth enveloped me as I pushed open the door. There lay Oliver—my little boy —wrapped in soft blankets. Clean and peaceful after his bath earlier.
Jack was sprawled next to him; he had been my saviour tonight, always ready to lend a hand when chaos erupted.