Crossing The Devils Path

Chap 50: The Waiting Room

Richard’s POV:

The day they saw me; all hell broke loose.

Her parents showed up at the ICU like they had every day since the accident—carrying homemade food she couldn’t eat, sitting beside her with hope clinging to their tired eyes.

But when her mother saw me standing in the corner of the room, something inside her snapped.
“She ended up here because of you,” she hissed, loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “You dragged her into this mess!”
Her father stepped in too, fists clenched, pain written deep into his face. “If you truly cared about her, you’d leave.”

The shouting escalated. Nurses rushed in. Ray and Maya had to pull them aside, trying to calm them down, trying to explain what they didn’t understand. That I hadn’t abandoned Richa. That I’d been trying to protect her. That I was here because I loved her.

It took hours before they let me back into her room. The damage had been done, but I stayed. I always stayed.

Now, I’m here again. Watching the woman I love float somewhere between this world and the next.

I silently stare at the man slouched beside Richa’s hospital bed—Ray. Of all people.
I should’ve thrown him out days ago. The audacity—to call her a gold digger, and then sit here like some broken-hearted martyr. I heard it clearly as day, what he called my wife. Yet here he is. And so am I.

It’s been seven days since the coma started. The doctors keep saying it’s “temporary,” but that word means nothing without a clock.

I’ve memorized every spike and dip on her monitor. Every sigh, every twitch of her fingers. I’d waited so long to find her again. I can’t afford to lose her now.

Ray’s POV

It’s my turn now. To sit. To watch. To ache.

The last thing I said to Richa was gold digger.
If she never wakes up, that’s the final sentence I gave her. The shame of that is unbearable.

Richard and I don’t talk much. At first, we fought in silence—tight jaws, territorial glances, trying to claim her with nothing but presence. But after a week, that’s burned off. What’s left is guilt. And helplessness.

Maya visits often. She brings coffee, tired jokes, and scraps of hope. She's the only reason this room doesn’t swallow us whole.

She walks in now, two steaming cups in hand. I barely react. My stomach stopped caring days ago. Richard’s doesn’t seem any better—he looks like a man unraveling from the inside out.

Richa’s parents arrive every morning, quiet and wrecked. Her mother strokes her hair, whispers prayers. Her father sits by the window, barely blinking. They’ve forgiven each other for everything, I think—united by fear. But they haven’t forgiven Richard. Not yet.

And honestly? I get it now. I know their story. I know what she went through for him. And I know she loves him.
But somewhere inside, a voice still whispers: If she loves him why not accept him when he's here for her? Or had she moved on and decided to give me a chance? If so, I blew it away with my reckless actions.

I shrug, eyes on the beeping machine. “It’s been a week. She hasn’t even flinched.”

“She will,” she says softly. “Her love will bring her back.”

“I just want to apologize. That’s all,” I murmur, voice cracking.

Richard hears me. He walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll forgive you. Might take time… but she will. Richa’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She’s got a heart that forgives.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.

At 5 PM sharp, the doctor enters. Same face. Same script. I could recite it by now.
After checking her vitals, he looks at us—stern but not unkind. “You need to change the energy in this room. She’s in there. But you have to pull her back. People don’t come back to silence and grief. They come back to love.”
We nod. What else is there to do? We step out to let him finish.

“You two need rest,” Maya says, standing between us like a tired mother. “Right now, you look nothing like the men she once knew. Go change. Shower. Be human again.”
She’s not wrong. We glance at each other—hollow-eyed, unshaven. Ghosts.

We agree. I’ll return tomorrow. Tonight, it’s Richard’s turn.

Richard’s POV

I shower. Change. Eat something that doesn’t taste like cardboard. Then I’m back.

This time, I come prepared.

I brought her favorite playlist. Got the doctor’s okay to play it softly by her bedside.

My voice cracks as I hum along, off-key and desperate. Still, I sing. Because maybe, just maybe, she’ll hear.

I even brought flowers. Sunflowers—bright and stubborn, like her.

I sit down, take her hand, and whisper stories only she would understand.

Because if hope is the only thing left.

Then I’ll drown this room in it until she comes back to me.