Chapter 93: 91| Silence

Somehow, he found the strength—maybe it was Sophie herself who had given him the push—to grab his keys, step on the gas, and drive.

He didn't feel anything.

The ride was a blur, a hollow journey with nothing to anchor him. He didn't remember the turns he'd taken, or the stoplights he must have run.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel, his knuckles white, but there was no real awareness, no sense of time passing.

Just dread.

When he finally reached the hospital, he barely remembered parking. His legs moved on autopilot, carrying him inside, where the scent of antiseptic filled his lungs, cold and sterile. The world around him felt distant, muffled—until he heard his name.

"Ethan."

Mia.

She walked toward him quickly, her shoulders squared, her hands clenched at her sides. Her eyes were bloodshot, her expression tight—but she wasn't breaking. Not yet. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.

"Martha and Lily... they're a mess," she warned softly, her voice thick with grief. "Just a heads-up."

Ethan swallowed hard, forcing himself to ask the question that made his stomach churn. "How... how is she?"

Mia bit her lip, nodding quickly like she was trying to convince herself everything would be fine. "She's in surgery," she said, her voice cracking as she reached for his arm, as if grounding him. "They're doing everything they can."

She led him down the hall, her grip firm but trembling. As they walked, she told him what she knew.

"She was just out delivering flowers," Mia whispered, her words stumbling over each other.

"It hadn't even been fifteen minutes before we got the call from someone in the neighborhood. A car hit her at an intersection. That road's usually quiet, but the driver who slammed into her just... fled. "Didn't even stop to call for help. Just hit her and kept driving."

Ethan's stomach turned violently. His fists curled, his jaw locked so tight his teeth ached.

"If a neighbor hadn't recognized the flower shop van and called the police..." Mia's voice cracked, and for the first time, her composure wavered.

They turned the corner into the waiting area.

Martha and Lily sat together, clinging to each other, their bodies trembling with quiet sobs.

The moment they saw Ethan, something in them shattered. They rushed to him, falling into his arms, crying harder now that he was here.

Ethan held them, his grip firm, grounding. He whispered reassurances—lies, really, but they needed to hear them.

He whispered reassurances—lies, really, but they needed to hear them.

She'll be okay.

She's strong.

She's going to pull through.

Even if he wasn't sure of any of it.

He tried to be strong for them—because someone had to be.

Even if it felt impossible.

After a moment, he gently pulled away. "I need to talk to the doctors." His voice was low, rough.

They nodded, their tear-streaked faces desperate, like maybe he could somehow fix this.

Ethan forced himself forward. One step. Then another.

Ethan turned, forcing his legs to move toward the reception desk. A doctor was waiting, a clipboard in hand, his face unreadable.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

Ethan took a deep, unsteady breath. "Yeah. That's me."

The doctor met his gaze, firm but calm. "We got her into surgery in time. Right now, our main concerns are potential brain trauma and internal bleeding. We won't know the full extent of her injuries until after the operation."

Ethan nodded stiffly. The words crashed into him, sinking deep into his chest like stones.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely there. "For telling me."

The doctor gave him a small, understanding nod. "We'll update you as soon as we know more."

Ethan's shoulders slumped as he wandered down the hall, his legs barely holding him up. He found a quiet corner, leaned against the wall, and slid down until he was sitting, his head heavy in his hands.

His mind drifted back to that morning—just hours ago, when everything had felt so normal.

Now, all he could think was: Had he held her long enough? Had he kissed her deeply enough?

He hadn't even told her how he really felt.

He'd dropped her off at work with a quick smile, watching as she walked away, laughing at something Lily had said. She'd turned back, her face lit up with that warm, easy smile, and in that gentle way of hers, she'd whispered, "I love you."

And what had he done?

Smiled like an idiot. Let his heart swell with all the words he had never once said aloud.

He'd had a thousand chances to say them, but he kept holding back, waiting for some perfect moment. He'd convinced himself there was time, that he'd surprise her in a way that would show her exactly how much she meant to him.

But now... now that moment was slipping through his fingers, and his worst fears were bleeding into reality.

A tear slipped down his face. Then another. Until he was sobbing openly, his entire body shaking with grief.

What a damn fool he was.

What a goddamn fool.

She had told him every chance she got. And he hadn't even said it once. Not even once. Even though he loved her more than anything.

Ethan pressed his hands to his face, his breathing jagged and uneven.

His mind screamed with everything he wished he could say—how he'd spent years building walls around himself, only for Sophie to tear them down like they were nothing.

She wasn't just light to him.

She was his light.

His everything.

He'd sacrifice everything for her.

And yet, he had never even said those three words.

Hadn't he already wasted enough time?

And now... if she didn't make it—

No.

He couldn't even let the thought form. A life without Sophie wasn't a life at all.

A broken whisper left him. "God, please." His voice cracked as he clutched at the empty space beside him. "Just give me one more chance. I'll tell her every day—every hour. I'll spend my whole life telling her if I have to."

But the hospital halls remained silent. Indifferent to his pleas. And he had never felt more alone in his life.

Time lost meaning.

Every second dragged, every minute an eternity of agonizing uncertainty. The hours stretched on, unbearable, as he sat trapped in limbo, his world hollow without her.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He looked up.

"David?" Ethan's voice was hoarse, raw from crying.

David nodded, his expression unreadable, but his grip on Ethan's shoulder was steady. Then, quietly, he said, "She's going to be okay."

Ethan wiped his face with a trembling hand, trying—failing—to pull himself together. "I'm such a mess," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

David sat beside him, exhaling slowly. "You don't have to be strong right now." His voice was low, steady, grounding. "I know how much she means to you. To all of us."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." David added, there was regret in his tone—genuine, heavy.

Ethan shook his head. "Thank you for being here," he managed, his voice thick with emotion.

Mia joined them, sitting down on Ethan's other side. Her eyes were just as red and teary as his, but she gave him a soft, determined smile. "She's strong, Ethan. I just know she'll be okay."

And so, in the quiet, sterile waiting room, with David and Mia by his side, they sat together in silence, waiting.

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