---
Outside the ICU
The steady beep of the monitors faded behind them as the nurse gently guided them out. Justin lay still, pale and broken in that hospital bed, his face almost unrecognizable beneath the bruises and swelling.
Chioma's steps faltered the moment they reached the hallway. The sterile white walls felt like they were closing in. She gripped the railing, her knuckles turning white.
Kelvin saw the panic blooming in her eyes.
"Chioma…" he called softly.
She turned to him, and that was all it took — the brave front crumbling. She bit her lip, blinking fast, but the tears came anyway.
"He was fine yesterday, Kelvin," she whispered, voice cracking. "He was fine."
Kelvin stepped closer, his hand on her shoulder firm, steady. "He'll be fine again."
Her eyes searched his, wild and desperate. "What happened?
"I don't know either,he rarely drinks," Kelvin murmured.
"So what went wrong?" she choked out. "How did we end up here?
Kelvin exhaled, the ache in his chest tightening at the sight of her like this. But he didn't have answers. He wasn't going to pretend he did.
"I don't know, Chioma," he said quietly. "
She drew a trembling breath and let her head fall against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her, his chin resting atop her head.
Neither spoke for a while. The hospital corridor buzzed faintly with distant footsteps and murmured conversations, but around them, it felt like the world had narrowed to just that moment — to the weight of everything unsaid.
Kelvin held her a little tighter Because even with all this chaos, he didn't regret having her. He couldn't.
"I don't want to lose anyone," she whispered into his shirt.
"You won't," Kelvin promised, though he had no real right to. But he meant it. He meant every word.
She pulled away just enough to look up at him, and he brushed a stray tear from her cheek.
"Come on," he said gently. "Let's sit. We'll wait here till we know more."
Chioma nodded, letting him lead her toward the waiting room as the early morning sun started to bleed pale light through the hospital windows.
---
The hospital walls had begun to suffocate them. Three days of sterile corridors, humming machines, and the heavy scent of disinfectant had pressed down on them like a weight neither Chioma nor Kelvin could shake.
Justin still lay unconscious, unmoving, surrounded by tubes and monitors that beeped and blinked as if to remind them how fragile a life could be.
Kelvin had stayed too — never leaving the hospital grounds, watching over both his best friend and the woman tangled far too deeply in this mess with them. He could see it in Chioma's eyes: a storm she wasn't letting herself drown in.
On the third evening, as another nurse came in to check Justin's vitals, Kelvin reached out and touched Chioma's shoulder.
"Let's go home," he said quietly.
She didn't answer, her gaze fixed on Justin's still face.
Kelvin crouched beside her, his voice soft but firm. "Just for a while. We need to freshen up… eat something. We'll come right back."
Chioma's lips trembled. For a moment, she looked like she'd refuse again. Then, without a word, she rose to her feet.
At the Company Apartment
The apartment felt different. Hollow. Like someone had stolen the air out of it.
Chioma headed for the bathroom without a word, and Kelvin let her go, sinking into the couch and scrubbing a hand down his face.
The sound of running water echoed faintly through the apartment. When she finally emerged — wrapped in a towel, skin flushed from the hot shower — Kelvin was waiting for her with one of his clean shirts.
She took it from him, her fingers brushing his.
"I'll be quick," he murmured, moving past her into the bathroom.
The hot water was a relief, washing off days of hospital air and unspoken dread. But even under the shower, the weight in his chest didn't lift.
When Kelvin stepped out, towel draped low on his hips, he found Chioma curled up on the couch, wearing his shirt, hair still damp, her face turned towards the window though the curtains were drawn.
He crossed the room, crouching in front of her.
"Come here," he said, opening his arms.
She hesitated — only for a heartbeat — before leaning into him.
They stayed like that, her head against his chest, his hand gently tracing circles over her back. It wasn't the kind of comfort either of them was used to, but it was all they had left.
Kelvin leaned back a little, tilting her face toward his. His gaze dropped to her lips — familiar now, tasted before — and instinct moved him closer.
Chioma felt it, the air shifting. She didn't speak. Didn't protest. But just as his lips brushed hers, she turned her face away, resting her cheek against his collarbone instead.
Kelvin stilled.
His hand lingered against her jaw, but he didn't push.
A sharp, bitter ache stirred in his chest, though he understood it wasn't rejection. Not really. Not when the world felt like it was crumbling around them.
He let out a quiet breath and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head instead. "We'll get through this," he murmured.
Chioma said nothing.
Then the shrill ring of his phone shattered the silence.
Kelvin grabbed it off the table, glancing at the screen.
The hospital.
A sudden, cold knot twisted in his stomach. He answered immediately.
"Mr. Kelvin," the voice on the other end sounded urgent. "You need to come back now. It's important."
His chest tightened. "We'll be there."
The call ended, and Kelvin met Chioma's eyes — wide, fearful, brimming with things neither of them had words for.
He stood, grabbing his keys. "Let's go."
Neither of them spoke as they left the apartment, the heavy quiet following them like a shadow.
---