The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 158

Out of the Darkness

HANNAH’S POV:

THE NEXT MORNING:

Two doctors stood before me, moving with practiced efficiency as they checked my vitals. One was pressing two fingers gently against my wrist, counting my pulse. The other was checking my blood pressure, the cuff tightening uncomfortably around my upper arm.

They took turns shining a small penlight into my eyes, watching how my pupils reacted to the brightness. I flinched each time, the light feeling too harsh and too invasive.

They scribbled notes onto their charts constantly, murmuring medical terms back and forth to each other in voices just low enough that I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. Words like “respiratory recovery” and “neurological response” and “trauma assessment” floated past my ears.

The room felt too bright, the fluorescent lights overhead humming faintly and making everything look washed out and sterile. Too cold, despite the blankets they’d piled on me. Too real, too present, too much all at once after what felt like floating in darkness for so long.

I was awake. And I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that yet.

My eyes moved slowly, darting to the left side of the room since turning my neck hurt too much. Every muscle in my body ached like I’d been hit by a truck. Or maybe like I’d been trapped in a burning building. The thought flickered through my mind before I could stop it.

Lucas, Maya, and Cherry stood shoulder to shoulder near the window, the three of them packed together like they were holding each other up. They looked like they had aged years in what had probably only been days. Their faces were swollen from crying. Their eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. Their shoulders were tense and hunched with exhaustion and worry.

They were watching me with expressions I’d never seen before. Relief mixed with terror. Joy mixed with trauma. Like they couldn’t quite believe I was real and awake and looking back at them.

And then there was Elijah.

He sat in a wheelchair positioned near the foot of my bed, close enough to touch but not touching. He was wearing a hospital gown that hung loosely on his frame, making him look thinner than I remembered. His hair was slightly messy, sticking up in places like he’d been running his hands through it compulsively. His face was pale, almost gray, with dark circles under his eyes that told me he hadn’t been sleeping.

His hands were resting on the arms of the wheelchair, but I could see them shaking even though he was clearly trying desperately to hide it. Trying to appear strong and calm when he was obviously falling apart inside.

But his eyes. His eyes were the same warm, steady, beautiful eyes I’d fallen in love with. And they were completely glued to my face, like he was afraid I would disappear if he blinked or looked away for even a second.

I wanted to speak. I wanted to ask him what had happened, to fill in the gaps in my fragmented memory. I wanted to reach out and take his hand, feel his warmth and prove to myself that he was real.

But my body wouldn’t obey my commands. My throat felt like I’d swallowed broken glass. Every breath I took burned slightly, a reminder of the smoke I’d inhaled. My limbs felt impossibly heavy, like someone had draped wet sandbags over every part of me.

Why was I here? What had happened? Why did I feel like I’d been dunked in a hot tub and then left to bake in the sun?

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