Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Glass
Darkness has a weight to it.
It pressed down on my eyelids,
making it impossible to see the world I had left behind.
I wasn't dead,
but I wasn't quite alive either.
I was trapped in the hallway between life and the end,
listening to the muffled sounds of the hospital.
The hiss of the ventilator was my only companion,
a mechanical rhythm that reminded me I was still a prisoner of my body.
Days passed,
or maybe it was weeks.
Time has no meaning when you are a ghost in a bed.
I heard voices.
I heard the nurses whispering when they changed my IV bags.
"Poor Dr. Grant," one said,
her voice thick with pity.
"She was the best ER Chief we ever had."
"Did you hear about Dr. Bennett?" another whispered.
"He hasn't left the hospital in three days."
"He’s a mess," the first replied.
"But he’s the one who refused the C-section."
"Everyone knows it."
The words were like needles,
pricking at my consciousness.
I wanted to scream,
to tell them that his "mess" was a performance,
a way to hide his guilt from the board.
Then,
I heard his footsteps.
I knew the heavy,
rhythmic click of his leather shoes anywhere.
He sat by my bed,
and I felt his hand take mine.
His touch,
once a source of comfort,
now made my skin crawl beneath the surface.
"Amelia," he whispered,
his voice ragged and hollow.
"Please wake up."
"The baby is healthy."
"He has your eyes."
"I named him Leo,
just like we talked about."
Liar.
We hadn't talked about names in months.
Every time I tried,
he had walked out of the room.
"I’m so sorry," he sobbed,
his hot tears falling onto my paralyzed hand.
"I didn't think...
I thought I knew better."
"I was trying to teach you a lesson."
A lesson.
My life,
and the life of our child,
had been nothing more than a classroom exercise for his ego.
I fought against the darkness,
pushing against the heavy veil of the coma.
I didn't want to wake up for him.
I wanted to wake up to take everything from him.
I wanted to see the look on his face when he realized,
that the wife he tried to break,
was the one who would destroy him.
I felt a surge of adrenaline,
a spark of the same strength that had snapped the steel rail.
Slowly,
agonizingly,
my index finger twitched.
The room went silent.
"Amelia?" Cameron gasped,
leaning closer.
I gathered every ounce of my will,
and forced my eyes to open.
The light was blinding,
stabbing into my brain like a knife.
He was right there,
his face puffy and unshaven.
I looked at him,
not with love,
not even with anger,
but with the cold,
clinical detachment of a doctor looking at a terminal disease.
I moved my lips,
tasting the dryness of my own throat.
May you like
"Get... out," I wheezed.
The shock on his face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
