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Don’t Look Back
Matt lay inclined in bed, gaze turned away from the window. A square of gauze marked the spot where the trach had been. He was on a nasal cannula now—breathing steady, but strained. His right hand, now in a brace, rested stiff in his lap.
“We’re getting closer to moving you out of here,” Lucy said. “You’re hitting all the milestones the doctors want. They’re really impressed.”
“Milestones,” he murmured. “Doesn’t feel like progress.”
“Doesn’t have to feel like it. It still is.”
Three months in this room, and she’d watched him fight through every inch of it.
“They say I’m getting better,” he said after a moment. “But I… don’t feel like me.”
“You’re still you, Matt,” she said. “You’re just… a version of you that needs some time to rebuild. And that’s okay.”
“Doesn’t feel okay.” His eyes stayed on the blanket. “Feels like… everyone’s lying to me. Like they’re afraid to tell me the truth.”
“No one’s lying to you. The truth is that this is hard. It’s going to keep being hard. But you’re still here. You’re still fighting, even when it feels impossible. And that’s not nothing.”
Ben sat in the waiting area, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. The corridor was quiet, fluorescent, static. He hadn’t gone in. Not today.
You don’t belong here.
The thought circled, sharper now. He didn’t resist it.
Footsteps approached. Slowed. He didn’t need to look to know it was her.
“You’re really not going in.”
“I was going to.”
She let it go. “He’s… not himself today. The doctors say it’s normal—but it doesn’t make it easier.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s alive. That’s something. But he’s not okay, Ben. He’s scared. He’s angry. And he’s so damn tired. He doesn’t know how to deal with all of it, and honestly?”
Her voice dipped, just enough to crack. “Neither do I.”
“Lucy—”
“I don’t need you to explain. I need you to go in there and talk to him. He needs you, Ben. Even if he doesn’t know how to ask for it, he does.”
“I don’t know what to say to him,” he admitted.
“Just sit with him. Let it be hard. You should know this.”
She left without another word.
Even then, he didn’t get up. He should’ve gone. Said something. Crossed the hallway.
But he remained where he was.
Lucy returned to find his eyes closed again. She sat beside him, brushing his hand.
“We’ll take it as it comes,” she said. “We’re going to get through this. All of us.”
He didn’t answer, but his fingers curled around hers—small, shaky, real.
It wasn’t much. But she held on anyway.
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