Chapter 12
Collins
After the last visitor left, the room fell into a sterile quiet, broken only by the steady beep of the monitor.
I stepped closer to the bed and ran through the routine again—checking her pupil response, monitoring intracranial pressure, noting her vitals, watching for even the smallest involuntary movement.
Nothing had changed. Still unresponsive.
Still suspended between waking and nowhere.
I documented the readings, forced myself to take one last look at her face, then turned off the overhead light and left the ICU.
The on-call room smelled faintly of burnt coffee. I had just taken my first sip when the door creaked open behind me.
“Tell me I’m not the only one thinking this,” Tim said, stepping inside.
“Anna?”
He nodded, rubbing both hands down his face like he was trying to wipe the thought away. “What are the odds?” he muttered. “I don’t even know what to make of it.”
I leaned back against the counter. “We treat her like any other patient,” I said, more firmly than I felt. “And we forget whatever connection we had before.”
“We?” Tim echoed, eyebrows lifting. “So, you had a connection?”
“You know what I mean,” I said. “We both met her before all this. That makes her feel… closer than she should. More than just another name on a chart.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “I think you were attracted to her at first glance.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I said. “We stay professional.”
But the words lodged somewhere uncomfortable in my chest. Because something about his teasing hit closer to the truth than I wanted to admit.
I set the mug down. “I’m going to take a thirty-minute nap before my next round. I’m on an eighteen-hour shift tonight.”
Tim nodded. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”
He stepped back into the corridor, the door clicking shut behind him.
I lay back on the narrow bed in the on-call room, shoes still on, pager heavy against my chest, already knowing sleep would be shallow at best.
After my short nap, I moved down the hall to do my rounds, methodically checking on each patient. Bed fourteen—the motorbike accident girl—was scheduled for discharge today. I nodded at her as I passed, quickly verifying her vitals before the covering doctor took over, then stepped out.
By the time I returned to Anna’s room, the space felt smaller than before. Family and friends had crowded outside the ICU, voices soft but persistent. Only two visitors were allowed inside.
Chloe sat beside Anna’s bed, and next to her was a woman who looked to be in her forties, her posture attentive, almost protective. Chloe looked up sharply as I approached.
“You’re her doctor?” she asked, surprise written across her face.
I nodded.
“She’s such a sweet woman,” the lady murmured, her eyes warm as I went through my routine.
“She is,” Chloe said “and she loves children. She even invited her whole class and arranged a special play area for them at her wedding—parents included.”
“Yes, I was there.” The lady said. “That’s how much she cares. And during school holidays, she volunteers at orphanages.”
Hearing that, I felt an unexpected tug at my chest. Compassion like that—real, uncalculated—was rare.
“Are you related to Anna or something?” Chloe asked.
“Oh no,” the woman replied gently. “I’m her neighbour—we live across from each other.
She’s such a lovely person. When my husband lost his job, she made sure my family had food every day until he found work again.
My children never had to go to bed hungry.
” Her voice softened. “She even bought them new school shoes when she noticed theirs were too small.”
“That’s… incredibly thoughtful,” Chloe whispered. “I always knew she was caring, but I never realized just how much.”
Just then, Tatum slipped quietly into the room, taking a seat beside Chloe. The lady stepped out to keep the restriction to two people.
“How is she?” Tatum asked, her voice hesitant. “Can the doctor tell us?”
“Dr. Collins. Do you have any idea when she’ll wake up?”
“At this stage, she’s in a deep coma,” I said, careful not to add panic where it wasn’t warranted. “I don’t have a timeline yet, but we’re monitoring her closely. I’ll keep you updated with any changes.”
There was a pause as the women absorbed this, nodding silently. I focused on the monitors, the steady beeping a strange comfort in the room filled with concern. Even with all the noise, you could feel how delicate she was, a quiet reminder that we just had to hope and be patient.
The room finally got quiet. Everyone had left, and all that was left was the gentle whirring of machines and a hint of antiseptic smell.
Anna lay slightly twisted, her head leaning just a little too far to the side.
On impulse, I adjusted the pillows, making sure they were snug, straightened the blankets, smoothing the wrinkles.
I don’t know why I did it. Nurses usually handled these things.
But somehow, in the stillness of the room, I couldn’t leave her like that.
I lingered longer than necessary, smoothing the edge of the blanket, adjusting it with unnecessary precision—as if that small, pointless act could make her more comfortable. Or keep her here.
A faint voice carried through the glass.
“Miss. Mathews, please don’t leave us. We miss you.”
I looked up.
Outside the ICU doors, a little girl stood on her toes, her palm pressed flat against the window. She clutched a tiny potted plant in her other hand, the leaves trembling slightly with the effort of holding it up.
Her mother rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Lara, sweetheart, you can’t go inside,” she murmured softly.
I hesitated only a moment before stepping out into the corridor.
Up close, the child’s eyes were glassy with tears, fixed stubbornly on the bed behind me.
“Hi,” I said, lowering my voice. “I’m Dr. Collins.”
“I’m Elise,” the woman replied, offering a polite but strained smile. “Miss. Mathews is her teacher.”
I nodded once, glancing back through the glass where Anna lay motionless beneath the machines’ steady rhythm.
“She’s stable for now,” I said carefully. “But she may remain unresponsive for quite some time.”
“Oh…” Elise’s voice caught, her gaze dropping to her daughter. “That’s… that’s very sad.”
Lara lifted the small plant toward me.
“Can you please give this to her?” she asked quietly. “It’s from her class. She said plants help us grow.”
For a moment, something tightened unexpectedly in my chest.
I took the pot from her small hands.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Once I placed the plant carefully on the windowsill, I turned and headed toward my next patient—an elderly man with a brain tumour.
“Mr. Branson,” I said as I approached, trying to keep my tone light. “How are you feeling today?”
His eyes twinkled faintly, though he seemed more focused on someone else entering the room. I turned around and saw Marlon.
“Bringing me any good news, grandson?” the old man asked with a grin.
Marlon stepped closer. “Looks like you’ve already met my granddad, Collins.”
I blinked. “Your grandfather?” A soft laugh escaped me. “I honestly thought the surname was just a coincidence.”
“Afraid not,” Marlon said, amused. Then he turned to the man in the bed. “Not even a hello? Straight to the interrogation?”
His grandfather chuckled, eyes glinting with both mischief and urgency. “You know why I ask. I want to see my great-grandchildren before I leave this world.” His gaze sharpened. “So—are you going to marry Melissa?”
Marlon shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I don’t know, Grandpa.”
The old man leaned back against the pillows, expression firm now.
“You will. And soon. No excuses.” He paused, letting it land.
“I’ve already transferred a generous lump sum—enough to set you up comfortably.
The rest comes later.” His eyes locked onto Marlon’s. “On the condition that you’re married.”
The air shifted. Heavy. Loaded.
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “I’ll give you two a moment,” I said quietly, stepping toward the door.
“Wait,” Marlon said, catching up to me. Then, over his shoulder, to his grandfather, “Let me know when you’re ready for a real conversation.”
We stepped into the corridor together.
That’s when Nancy came around the corner, distracted, a bottle of water in her hand. Her foot clipped the edge of the wet-floor sign.
Marlon reacted instantly—one arm catching her waist, the other steadying her shoulder. For a split second, neither of them moved.
He stared at her like the rest of the world had dropped away.
Nancy’s hands lifted, fingers moving quickly—thank you, I assumed—her cheeks faintly flushed. Marlon nodded, murmuring, “No problem,” but his eyes followed her long after she walked off.
I smirked. “I saw that.”
He exhaled slowly, still watching the corridor where she’d disappeared. “I think I should learn sign language.”
I raised a brow. “You’re attracted to her.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even pretend to. “I get butterflies every time she’s near,” he admitted quietly. “All I can do is fantasize—while my granddad’s planning my future with a woman who’s left me for another guy.”
I shook my head. “That’s rough.”
“What’s up with you and Melissa, by the way?” I asked.
“We broke up twice.” He scoffed. “And both times she ran straight back to him.”
“Then why is your grandfather pushing marriage now?” I asked. “Did you even love her?”
Marlon was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled—soft, almost disbelieving. His gaze drifted down the corridor again, unfocused.
“I thought I knew what love was,” he said finally. His thumb brushed absently over his palm, as if remembering the shape of something that had slipped through his fingers. “Turns out… I didn’t.”
I studied him. “And now?”
His breath left him slowly. “Now it’s like everything before feels borrowed.”
I held his gaze. “You’re going to have to figure this out.”
He nodded once, jaw set, eyes still pulled toward the hallway. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”