Chapter 20
Anna
She hates me.
The realization landed slowly, then all at once—heavy, crushing. I didn’t understand it. If she hated me all along, why pretend? Why sit beside me, smile at me, call me friend?
Hearing her talk about Michael—about his kisses—felt like being struck somewhere deep and unprotected.
A dull ache spread through me, sharp and relentless.
Even when she admitted he didn’t love her the way he loved me, it didn’t help.
If anything, it made it worse. Because it meant everything I lost still mattered… just not enough for them to stop.
My best friend and My husband. A life I barely had time to step into.
They moved on. Together. And I was here—suspended in a quiet, endless dark.
Sometimes it felt like I was floating between moments, between breaths. Not awake. Not gone. Just… waiting.
If it weren’t for him, I don’t know if I would still be fighting.
My guardian angel, that was what I had started calling him, even though it sounded foolish. I had never seen his face. Never heard his voice clearly. And yet, somehow, I knew him. I felt him.
Which was ridiculous, really. How do you develop feelings for someone you’ve never met?
And yet… I had.
His presence was the one constant in this in-between place. The thing that anchored me. The reason I clung instead of letting go. I wanted to stay. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to meet him. In the silence, I had begun painting him from fragments,
imagining the shape of his hands, the way he might look when he spoke, the warmth I felt whenever he was near.
I clung to that feeling.
For reasons I couldn’t explain, he felt like something familiar.
Safe.
Like home.
A place I wanted to reach, even if I didn’t yet know how. Because somewhere deep inside, I knew that was where I wanted to belong.
I heard Chloe’s voice then—strong, firm, defending me. The words blurred, but the intention didn’t. She left abruptly. I felt it, the shift in the air. Then Veronica’s voice followed, sharper, frantic. “Wait for me.”
But he stayed. He always did.
I felt it every night—the careful way he adjusted the blankets, as if afraid to disturb me. The way he fixed my pillow, just enough to make it better. He was doing it now. I know he was.
It made me smile somewhere deep inside, even as doubt crept in.
I was probably not the first patient to fall for him. Someone kind. Someone attentive. Someone who made you feel seen even when you couldn’t open your eyes.
For a moment, everything went still.
The room quieted.
The hum of the machines faded into the background.
I thought he’d left.
It was quiet now.
And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that was when the loneliness hurt the most.
Then I heard a female voice.
It sounded like Veronica.
“Where the hell did he go?”
The words floated into the room, sharp and irritated. I wondered why she was looking for him, why it mattered so much. Her footsteps were light, but I could feel her presence the way you feel a storm before it breaks. She was alone. I knew it.
Then she spoke again to me.
“Must be nice,” she said softly, bitterness wrapped around every word. “Having such a pretty face that a cold doctor, one who never even blinks, can fall in love with you, without you saying a single word.”
Her voice trembled with resentment.
“It irritates me,” she continued. “I was really hoping you’d wake up. Maybe see my happy ending. See me with your ‘so-called’ husband.” She let out a humourless laugh. “But it seems that’s never going to happen. Because clearly… he still loves you, damn it.”
I felt the knot in my chest.
“And even if you don’t end up back together,” she went on, her tone darkening, “you still have options. Options you don’t deserve. I’m not going to allow that.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “So really… I hope you don’t wake up. You’d be doing the universe a favour.”
The words hit harder than anything before them.
The hatred is deep.
The realization burned slowly, painfully. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her to stop. To tell her she was wrong. That I was still here. That I could hear every cruel word.
I felt the ache rise, the pressure behind my eyes, tears forming, begging to fall.
But nothing happened.
I was trapped.
No one could hear me. No one could see me. No one knew how deeply I felt this, how much it hurt. My tears stayed locked inside me, unseen, unacknowledged.
Then I felt her leave.
The room shifted. The air grew lighter, emptier.
I was alone.
And suddenly, desperately, I wished for someone to be here. Not my husband. Not my father. Not even my sister.
I needed him. The doctor.
The one presence that made the darkness feel less endless.
After a long while, I felt his presence.
I recognised his fragrance. Walking around me.
Doing some things I didn’t recognise. Then I felt him.
His fingers on mine. His touch that always undid me and I have no way to respond and tell him to keep going.
It’s always brief, and didn’t happen often.
Then I heard her voice again, and he let go of my hand.
“You’re falling for her, aren’t you?” I heard her say.
He didn’t answer.
The silence stretched heavy. Then I heard her step closer.
“She’s not worth it,” Veronica continued. “Michael and her divorce would’ve been inevitable anyway. You don’t know the things she did behind his back.”
Lies.
The words burned through me. I couldn’t believe she was doing this, [LV1]smearing my name to the one person whose opinion I cared about most.
“Miss,” he said calmly, his voice steady, controlled, “I’d like to keep things professional. Miss. Mathew’s private life has nothing to do with me.”
“It doesn’t look that way,” she replied coolly. “The way you treat her…it goes beyond professional boundaries.” A pause. Sharper. “Careful. You wouldn’t want to lose your license.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” he asked.
“No, of course not.” Her tone softened, turned almost sweet. “I just think you’re a very kind, very handsome man to risk your career over a woman who isn’t worth it.”
“Miss,” he said again, firmer now, “I’m not in a position to judge a patient I don’t know. As I said, my involvement here is strictly professional. And I have work to do.”
“Of course,” she replied quickly. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.” A beat. Then, lightly, “How about I make it up to you? Dinner this weekend?”
“No, thank you,” he said without hesitation. “I’m swamped with work.”
“Next week, then?”
“I’m not sure when I’ll get a break,” he answered. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Could we at least exchange phone numbers?” she pressed.
“That would be inappropriate,” he said. “I’m not on the market to date at all. I hope you understand.”
“Sure,” she replied, her voice tight. “I’ll… get going now.”
Her footsteps faded.
And I was left with the wreckage.
I couldn’t believe her. The lengths she went to. The ease with which she tried to ruin me with him. My chest ached with it, the betrayal sharp and suffocating.
Was he going to be different with me now?
Would he stop caring the way he always did? Stop coming back at night. Stop fixing my blankets. Stop staying.
Did he believe her?
I didn’t think I could survive it if he did.
And then, something slipped.
A tear escaped the corner of my eye.
Just one.
But real this time. I could feel it.