I found her in the cardiac unit, sitting near the window in a hospital gown that made her look smaller than I remembered. Her dark hair, once carefully styled, hung loose around her shoulders. The confidence that had drawn me to her seven years earlier seemed gone, replaced by someone fragile, tired, and uncertain.
“You came,” she said when she noticed me in the doorway.
Her voice carried both surprise and relief.
“The hospital contacted me,” I said. “They told me you were asking for me.”
I stayed near the door, unsure whether I had the right to come closer. Rebecca nodded slowly, fidgeting with the edge of her blanket.
“I didn’t know who else to put down as an emergency contact,” she said. “My parents are gone, my sister lives across the country… I guess old habits stay longer than we expect.”
The awkwardness stretched between us like a wall. We were two people who had once shared everything, now struggling to manage even the simplest conversation.
“What happened?” I asked, finally taking a few steps toward her bed.
