CHAPTER 4 — THE RIDE THAT BROKE ME
The ambulance lights turned the night into fragments of red and white.
I sat beside Clara, holding her hand.
She never let go.
Even when her grip weakened.
Even when her eyes started drifting.
Even when the monitors began speaking louder than she could.
I kept replaying everything.
The broken frame.
The blood.
The silence.
My own mind had turned love into suspicion in under a minute.
And I had believed it.
Clara turned her head slightly.
“Ethan…”
Her voice was barely audible.
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head.
“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t apologize. I thought—”
I stopped.
Because I couldn’t say it.
Not here.
Not now.
Not after everything.
Her fingers squeezed mine faintly.
“I know what you thought,” she whispered.
That hurt more than anything.
Because she wasn’t guessing.
She knew.
At the hospital, she was rushed into emergency care.
Doors closed.
Machines beeped.
Doctors moved fast.
And I was left outside.
Frozen.
Guilty.
Helpless.
Time passed in fragments.
Minutes felt like hours.
Hours felt like nothing.
Until finally—
a doctor stepped out.
“She’s stable,” he said.
I almost collapsed in relief.
“And the baby?”
A pause.
Then:
“Still fighting.”
Still fighting.
May you like
That phrase stayed with me.
Because it meant nothing was safe yet.
