Ophelia
When I open my eyes, the first thing I hear is the soft, rhythmic beeping of machines.
The ceiling above me is pale and unfamiliar. It takes a few seconds to realise I’m in a hospital room. The light is dim, night, I think, and when I turn my head slightly, I see the moon outside the window.
I try to make sense of it. Why I’m here. What happened.
But everything feels muddled.
My eyes drift to the side, and that’s when I see him.
Arlo.
He’s slumped in a chair beside the bed, his head tilted slightly forward, his hand tangled with mine. He’s asleep, but even in sleep, there’s tension in his jaw.
I glance around the room. There’s no one else here. Just him and me.
My throat burns, my mouth feels dry. I try to move, to reach for the glass of water on the table, but the moment I shift, pain ripples through my body. A soft sound escapes me before I can stop it.
Arlo stirs immediately. His eyes open, wild for a moment before focus returns. The relief that flashes across his face is almost unbearable.
He leans forward, his voice breaking on a whisper. “Ophelia.”
He then stands so quickly that the chair scrapes against the floor. “You’re awake. Just stay still, don’t move. I’ll call the nurse.”
I shake my head weakly. “Water,” I manage to croak.
He stills. “Right. Water.”
He moves fast, returns with a cup, and lifts a piece of ice to my lips. His gaze never wavers, tracking every small movement I make.
He sets the cup down, then, slowly, he steps back toward the door, opens it, and calls quietly into the corridor, “I need a nurse.”
He shuts it again and returns to the chair beside me.
Now that I’m really looking at him, I can see how bad he looks. His hair’s longer and unkempt. His shirt creased, his eyes ringed with dark shadows. He looks wrecked.
“How do you feel?” he asks. “Are you in pain?”
Before I can answer, the nurse arrives. She smiles, her relief obvious. “Goodness, you’re awake,” she says, checking the monitors, the IV lines, asking questions I barely manage to nod through. Then she leaves, promising the doctor will be in soon.
The room falls quiet again, just him and me.
And then it hits me.
All of it.
The notes. Zara. The memories I fought so hard to remember, that night, the woods, the car, the crash.
I turn my head slightly, my throat raw, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Why are you here, Arlo?”
The question seems to hit him like a physical blow. His brow furrows.
“Where else would I be?”
I swallow, my lips dry. “I don’t know. Just… not here.”
The look on his face makes my chest burn. He rises from the chair and pushes it aside.
“What are you doing?” I manage.
He lowers himself to his knees beside the bed, eyes lifting to mine.
“Arlo,” I whisper.
“Ophelia,” he begins, “you are my everything. You always were. The moment I saw you, I knew I’d never let you go.”
My breath catches.
“I fucked up,” he says, the words rough.
“There’s no excuse for not trusting you, for believing, even for a second, that you could ever do something like that.
To think you’d kill someone just to hide an affair…
it’s absurd, and I know it. But when I saw you with him, my brother, it triggered something in me.
It was like every dark instinct I’ve ever had took control.
I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t rational. I was… gone.”
I flinch, and he sees it. The pain that crosses his face is immediate.
“I believed the worst of you,” he goes on, his voice low, almost hoarse, “when I should’ve trusted you with my life.
The truth is, deep down, I did. I always did.
But facing that truth meant facing what he really was, what I refused to see for years.
It was easier to hate you than admit how badly I’d failed.
Easier than admitting my own fucking stupidity for thinking, even for a second, that you could betray me. ”
He draws a breath. “And Zara…”
I stiffen.
“I didn’t touch her, never,” he says, his voice low. “She was leverage, nothing more. I had information I could use against her, and she played the part I needed her to. To make you believe something that never happened. But there’s never been another woman, Ophelia. There never will be.”
He looks up at me, his eyes are dark and raw. “You shouldn’t forgive me, I know that. I don’t deserve it. But I’m a selfish man, and I’ll fight for you anyway. I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness. Because you’re mine, Ophelia. You never stopped being mine.”
Tears spill freely down my face. I shake my head weakly. “I’m sorry… I can’t.”
“Don’t say that,” he grits out.
“I feel guilty,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“I know,” he says firmly. “Because you’re too damn pure for this world. But none of this is your fault.”
“I don’t think we can come back from this.”
“You keep saying that, ma lune,” he murmurs, “but I’ll prove you wrong. There’s no other ending for us.”
“You hurt me, Arlo,” I whisper, barely audible. “Deeply.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. “I know. And I hate myself for it more than you could ever understand.”
“I need time,” I whisper.
He studies me for a long moment, so long I almost think he won’t answer. Then he exhales.
“I understand. I’ll give you that time, even if it kills me. Because I need to earn your forgiveness. But don’t mistake distance for surrender, Ophelia.”
He leans closer, his voice low. “You’re mine, now, always, and forever. Remember that.”
He stands, hesitates for a moment, then turns toward the door.
And when he leaves, it feels like he’s taken the air, and my heart, with him.