28. Mia
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mia
When I finally get there, I go straight to the hospital.
I don’t want to lose time going to a hotel, checking in, and dealing with people.
I need to see him now.
The taxi drops me at the entrance, and I'm moving before the door fully opens, my bag catching on the seat, my hands shaking so badly I can barely grip the handle.
The hospital is too clean, too quiet, too bright.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing everything in sterile white that makes my eyes ache.
The smell hits me immediately. Antiseptic and something underneath it, something else that makes my stomach turn.
I can't feel my legs as I walk inside. My mouth is dry, and my heartbeat is a constant thrum in my ears, so loud I'm certain everyone can hear it.
At the front desk, a nurse glances up. “Can I help you?”
“I'm here for Sergeant George Hale.” My voice breaks on his name.
She types something into her computer, and I watch her face for any sign, any flicker of recognition or concern or something.
Then she asks the question I've been dreading since I boarded the first plane.
“Are you family?” The truth sticks in my throat.
I'm not family. I'm not his wife. I'm not even his girlfriend.
I'm not… anything.
I'm just a woman who fell in love with someone through letters. A stranger who read his words and decided that was enough. But leaving him alone, letting him wake up to no one, feels like a bigger lie than anything I could say right now. I swallow hard.
“Something like that,” I whisper.
The words sound pathetic even to my own ears.
“It's… complicated. I received an official notice.” It's all I manage to say before I choke on my own words.
Before the rest of it, I came halfway across the world because I couldn't let him be alone, die in my throat.
The nurse's expression softens slightly.
She opens her mouth to respond, and that's when the alarms start. The sound is loud, piercing in my ears. A sharp, mechanical wail that cuts through the quiet like a knife. Then the intercom crackles to life.
“Code Blue, ICU. Code Blue, ICU. All available personnel to the ICU immediately.” My heart stops.
Just—stops.
The nurse's head snaps up.
Around us, everything erupts into motion. Nurses appear from nowhere, moving fast, their shoes squeaking against the polished floor. A doctor rushes past me, white coat flying behind him, stethoscope bouncing against his chest. Someone shouts down the hallway. “Sergeant Hale—BP dropping—”
The world tilts.
No.
“Get the crash cart!”
Another voice cut through in an urgent tone. “He's going into shock—”
I try to move, try to follow them, try to do something, but my legs won't work. My body has turned to stone. The nurse behind the desk is already moving, abandoning her post, running toward the double doors marked ICU - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
I force myself forward.
One step.
Two.
My bag slips off my shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud, but I don't stop. I can't stop. I reach the doors just as another nurse appears, blocking my path.
“Ma'am, you can't go back there.”
Her hand is firm on my arm, gentle but unyielding. “Please—” My voice cracks.
“You need to wait here.”
“He's—I need to—”
“Ma'am.” She says way firmer now.
Through the small window in the door, I see them. A swarm of people in scrubs surrounding a bed I can't fully see. Someone's doing chest compressions. Someone else is shouting orders. The heart monitor's frantic beeping cuts through everything—too fast, too erratic—and then a long, terrible tone.
“Charging to 200—”
“Clear!” I hear the sound. The awful, electric thump of the defibrillator.
My knees buckle, and the nurse catches me before I hit the ground. “Is there someone I can call for you?” Her voice sounds far away. I shake my head, because there's no one.
Through the door, I hear fragments.
“—still no pulse—”
“—again, charging to 300—”
“—Hale, stay with us—”
His name.
They're saying his name, and I'm just standing here.
On the wrong side of the door.
Helpless.
Useless.
…and a little too late.