Chapter 22 Emma
EMMA
The first thing I hear is the steady beep beep beep of a heart monitor, then the distant hum of a voice. A horrible antiseptic scent clings to the back of my throat. The sheets are scratchy and stiff underneath me. It’s the last place I want to be.
A hospital.
I don’t even have to open my eyes to know where I am.
Shit.
My limbs feel like they’re submerged in concrete, every muscle aching, every breath is a chore. My chest feels like there’s a weight sitting directly on top of it or I’ve run a marathon in my sleep and came in last.
“Em, please.” The voice is wrecked. Broken.
My eyes flutter open. The light is too bright, and for a moment, everything blurs into a white haze. When my vision finally adjusts, his face is the first thing I see.
Alex.
He looks like hell. His dark hair is disheveled, his eyes rimmed red and heavy with guilt, panic, or something close to grief. He’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, leaning forward trying to anchor himself to me, like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.
I feel the tears build behind my eyes, but use every ounce of power left in me to stop them from falling.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is a croak, gravelly from the breathing tube that I can feel was once there and the pain.
Relief flashes across his face the second I speak, but it’s followed by a wave of something else as he realizes that my reaction to seeing him is not what he expected it to be.
“Em, I—”
“Get out,” I bite.
He flinches like I slapped him. “What?”
“I said get out.”
I try to push myself up onto my elbows, wincing at the effort, my arms trembling from the weight of my own body. Every part of me aches, but I don’t care. I won’t let him see me like this, not when I’m this vulnerable, or when the wounds are still fresh and he’s the reason they’re bleeding.
“Em, I was only gone for a couple minutes,” he says, panic rising in his voice. “I was coming right back. I swear. I just went to try to surprise you with—”
“I don’t care,” I interrupt, not having the energy for his constant excuses.
His mouth opens like he wants to continue explaining, or apologizing, or groveling, but I don’t give him the chance.
“You weren’t there, Alex. You left me.”
He looks stunned.
“I was coming back,” he insists, saying it softer now like the volume might make it more believable.
“I needed you and you weren’t there,” I whisper, voice splintering around the edges.
“Em, just listen to me.”
“No!” The heart monitor spikes with the rise of my voice. The beeps accelerate, each one screaming what I already know: my heart can’t take this right now. “I don’t want excuses or apologies. I don’t want anything from you. Just go!”
He grips his knees, fingers pressing in the denim as if trying to hold himself back from reaching for me. He must see it in my face, the finality of my words.
“Please,” he says one last time, so quiet I almost miss it.
“Leave.”
The word breaks something in him. He looks at me for one last lingering second. His eyes are trying to memorize me at this moment, searching desperately to see if I’ll change my mind. Then he simply nods while standing slowly and walks out of the room without another word.
The second the heavy door slams shut behind him, I crumble. The pain is unbearable. It’s not physical anymore. It’s the emotional kind that splinters through you like shrapnel. It’s silent and deadly, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake.
Cam bursts into the room first, followed closely by Leo and Frankie.
“What the hell was that about?” Cam demands.
I can’t even look at him. My gaze fixed on the door Alex walked out of not even a minute ago.
“I don’t want to see him.” The words come out forced, like I am trying to make myself believe they are true.
Frankie lets out a sharp breath, muttering a quiet, “Jesus.”
Leo’s eyes soften as he moves closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asks, trying to change the conversation, as if talking about my failing heart is better than my failing almost-relationship.
I want to lie and tell them I’m fine, but the truth is that I feel like I’m hanging on by a single thread.
“Weak. Tired,” I finally admit.
Cam’s fists clench at his sides. Frankie is silent, but the muscle in his jaw ticks over and over again. Leo stays close, his expression tight with concern.
Moments later, there is a single knock as the door opens once more.
Dr. Rivera walks in holding a clip board in one hand, a small, blonde nurse trailing in behind him.
He gives me a tiny and kind smile, but it fades quickly into something more serious.
I brace myself for what he is going to say next.
“Emiliana,” he starts gently. “I want to be honest with you about what we’re facing.”
The world seems to tilt slightly at the words.
He steps closer, flipping through the chart in his hand.
“Your heart function has declined significantly since the last time I saw you. Your ejection fraction is dangerously low. You’re not getting enough oxygenated blood to your organs, which is why you collapsed.
You experienced so many arrhythmias back to back that not even your ICD could work at the rate it needed to. ”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying again.
“The medication can only do so much at this point,” he continues. “We’re going to keep you stable, but long term—” he stops and takes a breath. “Emiliana, you need a transplant.”
His words hit me like if he had just slapped me instead.
“You’re saying… I need a new heart.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Soon.”
My hands are trembling now. Leo steps closer like he wants to wrap me in a cocoon and hide me from the truth. Cam stares at the doctor, waiting for any additional information he has to give. Frankie just turns away and walks towards the singular window in the room.
“And if I don’t get one?” I ask.
Dr. Rivera’s face is lined with concern. “Then we do everything we can to keep you going until one becomes available. But the reality is… without it, your heart will continue to deteriorate. Eventually, it will stop.”
The words echo through me, bouncing around the hollow places. The room is silent, as if no one knows how to respond to such a terrible prognosis, one that we all eventually knew was coming but now that it’s here, it feels heavier than expected.
“And how long… how long do I have?” I ask, hating myself for needing to know.
He hesitates, long enough to say everything he doesn’t say out loud. “We don’t know. We’ll place you on the transplant list immediately, as a high priority. But finding a donor is a process. It could be weeks. Months. Or longer.”
I nod, the movement feeling robotic. I hear everything he’s saying, but it feels like I’m floating outside my own body.
He reaches out and touches my shoulder gently. “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just let us take care of you.”
I nod again. He steps back, murmurs something to the nurse outside the door, and disappears down the hallway.
Leo sits beside me, gripping my hand in his. Cam stands behind him watching me like I might slip away at any moment. Frankie doesn’t say anything, simply pulls a chair closer and leans forward, like he’s standing guard.
I feel cold. Empty. Numb.
All I can think is that I need my mom. I need her here.
I need her voice. Her calm. Her strength.
She would hold me through this as I fell apart in her arms. She would know what to say.
She’d lie if she had to, telling me I was going to be fine even if she didn’t believe it. She’d make me believe it anyway.
But she’s not here. She’s never going to be here, and I don’t know how to do this without her.
Leo squeezes my hand harder. “Do you want us to stay?”
I shake my head.
He nods slowly, accepting that I need some time to myself and just squeezes my hand one last time before kissing my forehead goodbye.
None of my other brothers argue either. Frankie hesitates, his eyes stormy and conflicted, but eventually follows.
Cam lingers a moment longer, then simply gives my shoulder a squeeze and leaves quietly.
Finally, I am alone long enough to fall apart again.
Every breath is a sob. Every inch of me aches in ways no one can see. My heart, whatever is left of it anyway, splinters in silence. The only sound left in the room is the cruel, steady beeping of the machine counting down every second I’m still here.
Waiting.
For someone else’s life to end so mine can begin again.