my little secret ; lana del rey

27

The hospital room smells like flowers. There are at least four bouquets on the windowsill, two on the small table by the bed, and one on the chair that Lucy's dad keeps knocking over every time he stands up.

Her mum is awake now, still a little groggy, but smiling more each day. She even cracked a joke yesterday about the nurses falling in love with Lucy's dad because he keeps bringing them biscuits.

Lucy hasn't let go of her mum's hand much.

I've been coming every day, even if it's just to sit quietly in the corner and wait. Sometimes Lucy talks to me. Sometimes she doesn't. But she always lets me stay.

It's more than I thought I deserved.

This afternoon, she finally lets herself leave the hospital room. Just for a bit. The nurses promised they'd call if her mum needed anything. We sit outside on a wooden bench near the car park, bundled in our coats, sipping warm coffees from a nearby vending machine that tastes more like cardboard than caffeine.

Lucy hasn't spoken yet. But that's okay. I've gotten used to the quiet between us. It feels different now—less like a wall, more like a slow thaw.

Finally, she glances at me. Her eyes are tired but clearer than they've been in days.

"You know what's weird?" she says. "The worst thing happened, and I didn't even think about you kissing Brad. Not really. I just... I wanted you there. I needed you."

My throat tightens. "I wanted to be there for you. I still do. For everything. If you let me."

Lucy leans back, watching the clouds drift across the sky.

"I don't think I'm ready to forget it," she says. "But I am ready to stop letting it control how I feel about you."

I turn to her, heart thudding. "So... what does that mean?"

"It means I still love you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm scared. And I need you to meet me halfway. Not just today. Always."

I nod slowly. "I can do that. I will do that."

She studies me, like she's trying to see if she can really believe it. And then, after a long moment, she rests her head on my shoulder.

"I missed this," she murmurs.

I smile, barely daring to breathe. "Me too."

We sit like that, side by side, letting the wind carry away the pieces of what we've been through. There's still healing to do—so much of it—but maybe love isn't about perfection. Maybe it's about showing up. Even after you've broken something. Even when you're afraid.

And maybe that's enough.

We sit like that, side by side, letting the wind carry away the pieces of what we've been through. There's still healing to do—so much of it—but maybe love isn't about perfection. Maybe it's about showing up. Even after you've broken something. Even when you're afraid.

And maybe that's enough.

As Lucy's head rests against my shoulder, my mind drifts, uninvited, to a moment I haven't thought about in months.

Flashback to vacation

The sun was dipping low over the sea, bleeding orange into the water like spilled paint. We'd snuck away from the rest of the group after dinner—Lucy in an oversized hoodie and bare feet, laughing as we climbed the rocky path behind the villa.

"You're gonna break your ankle in those sandals," she teased, reaching for my hand as I stumbled.

"I'll be fine," I laughed, but I didn't let go of her.

We sat on a ledge overlooking the water, knees touching. I could hear the sounds of a party drifting up from the beach below, distant and muffled, like the world was happening somewhere far away.

"I don't want to go home yet," she said, hugging her knees to her chest. "It's like nothing exists here. No pressure. No expectations."

"Same," I whispered. And I meant it more than she knew.

She turned to me, her eyes catching the last of the sunlight. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"If you weren't engaged... do you think we'd be something?"

I didn't answer her then. I looked at her, and I knew the truth. But I was scared. Tied up in something that didn't feel like love but still looked like it.

Now, back on the cold bench outside the hospital, I wish I could go back and give her the answer she deserved.

"Yes," I whisper now, not realizing I said it out loud.

Lucy lifts her head slightly. "Yes what?"

I glance down at her, a small smile forming on my lips. "Yes... if you'd asked me that again now, I'd say yes."

She tilts her head, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in the smallest smile.

"Good," she says softly. "Because this time, I think we could really be something."

And in that moment—hospital wristbands, cold coffees, and all—I think she might be right.