A few days had passed since Vanessa had left the hospital. The stiffness in her legs reminded her of every step she took, and the dull ache in her wrist throbbed with each movement. Even now, in the comfort of her apartment, she limped slightly, each step a reminder of how fragile she had felt on that hospital bed.
The apartment smelled faintly of flowers — the ones Mark had left behind, untouched on the small table at the center of the room. She hadn't moved them since the day she got discharged from the hospital. Sometimes, late at night, she would look at them, wondering if she'd just let go of the one thing that still mattered most.
The soft buzz of the doorbell pulled her from her thoughts. She wobbled slightly, using the armrest of the sofa for support. "Coming!" she called, Her voice came out softer than she meant it to, thin with vulnerability.
Her door opened to a chorus of greetings. Her colleagues from work were there, carrying a jumble of gifts: balloons bobbing slightly in the hallway, a bright bouquet of lilies, a coincidence she didn't want to think about and cards with neatly written messages of sympathy.
"Vanessa!" Alex said, hurrying to her side. "We've been worried sick. How are you feeling?"
"I… I'm okay," Vanessa said, trying to smile, Her face pinched with pain when she attempted to stand upright. The pain shot through her hip, forcing her to shift her weight.
"We brought a little cheer," Emily said, holding up a card decorated with colorful doodles. "Nothing fancy, just… you know, to remind you we care." This was their second visit, their first was the day after the accident.
Vanessa accepted it with a nod, sinking slowly into the sofa. Her fingers brushed over the edges of the card. "Thank you," she murmured. She couldn't speak louder than that, couldn't conjure the energy her colleagues expected. Even her smile felt forced.
Alex glanced at her carefully. "You're really limping," he said. "You should sit. Let us help with… everything."
Vanessa shook her head. "I want to try. I can… manage."
Emily exchanged a glance with Alex, then muttered under her breath, "Famous last words."
Vanessa chuckled lightly, but the sound felt hollow. She tried to get up, attempting to move toward the kitchen to put the flowers in water. Her legs protested immediately, her hip flaring painfully. She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the counter.
"Okay! That's enough," Alex said firmly, stepping forward to take the vase from her. "You are not doing anything until you can walk without wincing."
Vanessa sank back onto the sofa, letting the weight of her body press into the cushions. Her chest tightened as another wave of emptiness hit her — not the physical ache, but the emotional one. She hadn't heard from Mark since the hospital. Not a message. Not a call. Nothing.
"I… I just feel like I should be doing something," she said softly, almost to herself, her fingers curling around the edge of the sofa. "Even if it's small. I feel useless otherwise."
"You're not useless," Emily said gently, sitting beside her. "You got hit by a vehicle, Vanessa. You're supposed to take it slow. That's the whole point of recovering."
Vanessa looked down at her lap, silent. She thought of the hospital, of the way she had pushed Mark away. Her stomach churned, her chest tightening again. If only I hadn't… she thought. If only I hadn't told him to leave. Maybe he'd still be here.
She leaned back, closing her eyes. A heavy quiet filled the apartment, interrupted by the faint ticking of the wall clock and the low murmur of Alex and Emily talking among themselves, trying not to make her feel guilty for being in pain. But Vanessa couldn't shake the thought gnawing at her: she had acted, and in doing so, she might have lost him forever.
Alex came closer, kneeling in front of her. "Vanessa… talk to us. How are you feeling, really?"
"I'm… I'm fine," she whispered, though even she didn't believe it. The truth was, she felt empty inside, like a part of her heart had been ripped away the moment she let him go. She couldn't focus, couldn't do chores, couldn't even bring herself to water the flowers he had left behind. Every little reminder of him cut through her, sharper than any physical pain.
Emily rested a hand on her shoulder. "You need to forgive yourself for being hurt. And for letting him in… and letting him go. It's okay to feel everything at once."
Vanessa nodded slightly, blinking back tears she refused to let fall. She tried to shift her attention to the cards on the table. Alex picked one up and read it aloud dramatically, "'Wishing you strength and a speedy recovery. Don't try to lift the world all at once.'" He winked at her. "I swear, it sounded funnier in my head."
She managed a small laugh, but it faded quickly. The emptiness returned, a hollow ache where hope should have been.
Hours passed in a blur of small gestures. Alex, Emily and the other colleagues fussed over her, helping her into a chair, straightening her pillows. Vanessa did her best to interact, to laugh politely, but her mind kept returning to him: to the hospital, to the kiss on her forehead, to the flowers left untouched.
By evening, the room had quieted. Her colleagues had left, promising to check in tomorrow. Vanessa sank into the sofa, her legs still sore, her wrist throbbing. She stared at the flowers in the vase, the white petals reflecting the soft glow of the lamp.
"I shouldn't have…" she whispered to herself. "I shouldn't have sent him away."
Regret lodged itself deep in her chest. She pressed her fingers to her temples and shut her eyes. For a split second, he felt close, so close it was almost cruel and the sensation turned her stomach. She'd told herself she was choosing self-preservation, but the question lingered anyway: but at what cost?
After a long pause, she reached for her phone. Her hand trembled slightly as she scrolled to his contact. Her thumb hovered over the call button.
"I have to know," she whispered, almost afraid to hear the answer.
She pressed the button.
The line rang once, twice. Then, a woman's voice answered sharply:
"Hello? How can I help you? He's busy!"
Vanessa's fingers tightened around the phone. "I… I need to speak to Mark," she said quietly, voice trembling.
There was a pause, then the woman shouted into the line: "You need to calm down! You think you can just call him whenever? Who are you anyway?!"
Vanessa stammered, trying to explain, "I… I'm Vanessa… Please, I need to—"
"Enough!" the voice snapped. "Do not waste his time. Do not call here again!"
Before Vanessa could respond, the line clicked dead.
Her body stiffened, every muscle locking in place. Slowly, she sank back into the sofa, her gaze drifting to the flowers, then the cards, then the quiet apartment closing in around her. That was when the reality of what she'd done settled heavily on her. She had tried to protect her heart, but now it felt as if she had destroyed her chance at his.
Her lips trembled as tears threatened to fall, but she swallowed them back. For the first time in days, the full force of regret settled over her.
I shouldn't have chased him out.
I shouldn't have let him go.
Vanessa sat there, quiet and still. Her chest ached with the weight of what she'd done. She had tried to protect herself, but now she wasn't sure what she had left—or what she had lost. And for the first time since the accident, Vanessa felt truly, achingly alone.