Days passed in a haze of silence, the same numbness holding me together and tearing me apart. Every time my phone lit up, I hoped it was him—some part of me wanting him to reach out, to admit he was ready to change. But the phone remained still, my heart sinking a little deeper with each passing day.
Then, one evening, my phone buzzed. But it wasn’t him. It was his manager.
“Isabelle… it’s Louis. He’s… he’s in the hospital. An overdose.”
I didn’t even let him finish before I was grabbing my things, barely registering the drive to the hospital, my mind a whirl of panic and desperation. By the time I reached his room, it was like I’d been holding my breath for days.
When I finally saw him—pale, motionless, and hooked up to machines—I felt something break inside me. I stood at his bedside, taking in the bruises on his arms, the way his fingers lay limp on the sheet. I wanted to scream, to yell at him for doing this to himself, for doing this to us, for making me feel this helpless.
But instead, I just held his hand, whispering a silent prayer that he’d come back. I stayed by his side, watching over him, until finally, hours later, his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and groggy.
“Isabelle…” he murmured, his gaze finally landing on me. “You’re here…”
I nodded, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. He looked at me with something raw, something vulnerable that I hadn’t seen before.
“I’m so sorry…” His voice cracked, and he reached for my hand, his fingers weak but warm. “About everything… Isabelle, I never meant to hurt you. Mary… she was my mom. She died when I was a kid, and I… I just…”
I held his gaze, feeling the weight of his words, but I couldn’t let him off so easily. “An apology isn’t going to save you this time, Louis.”
He flinched, the regret in his eyes deepening. “I know,” he whispered.
“If you really want me in your life, if you want to keep the promise you made to me, then you need to make a choice.” I took a deep breath, fighting the tremble in my voice. “You need to stop drinking and doing drugs, Louis. Until you’re clean, until you’re ready to fight for yourself… I can’t be there for you.”
His eyes filled with a fresh wave of guilt and pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came, and in that moment, I saw the desperation, the loneliness that had led him here.
I squeezed his hand, leaning close enough so that he’d know I meant every word. “I love you, Louis, but I can’t watch you destroy yourself. This is something you have to want for you, not for me. And when you’re ready… when you’re ready to be the man you can be, I’ll be here. But until then…”
He nodded, his eyes welling with unshed tears. “I understand,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a broken breath.
I stood, letting my fingers slip from his. I took one last look at him—at the man I loved, the man I hoped he’d choose to be—and turned to leave, knowing that sometimes love meant letting go.
