Nadine

Nadine
Nadine
I stare at the doctor, waiting for him to say something, but instead, he turns back to the receptionist, giving out instructions.
I try to be patient, telling myself it must be something important—maybe something they need to help Logan. But I can feel my patience slipping away. I just want to know what’s going on.
Finally, he looks at me. "Come with me," he says, motioning for me to follow.
Without hesitation, I rushed after him. His strides are quick, and I find myself practically running to keep up.
He opens the door to what I assume is his office and steps inside. I follow him in, my heartbeat loud in my ears. He gestures to a chair. "Please, have a seat."
I sit down, feeling the moment pressing on my chest. He takes his seat as well and exhales slightly before speaking.
"I need you to stay calm, Mrs. West. But trust me, your husband is in safe hands."
I watch him carefully, trying to understand why he’s leading with that. Why is he assuring me right away that Logan is being taken care of?
"Okay… Thank you, Doctor. But how is he? I need to see him."
"You will," he assures me. "But your husband has suffered a severe traumatic brain injury from the accident."
I stare at him, waiting for him to explain further. But he stays quiet as if giving me a moment to absorb his words.
"What does that mean?" I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He folds his hands on the desk. "This occurs when the brain is injured due to an external force, like the impact of a crash. In your husband's case, the injury is severe. We are concerned about potential long-term effects."
I swallow hard. Brain injuries. I know how serious those can be. But what worries me the most is the part about long-term effects.
"What kind of effects?" I ask, my hands gripping the edge of my seat.
He pauses, his gaze softening with sympathy. "It depends on the extent of the damage. From what we can tell, the crash was a head-on collision. It appears the other driver lost control and hit your husband's car directly."
My breath catches. "Oh my God," I whisper, my hand flying to my mouth as horrifying images flood my mind. I don’t even want to imagine the state Logan might be in right now.
The doctor continues, his voice gentle but firm. "Based on the severity of his condition, Mr. West will likely be unconscious for a significant period of time."
My heart pounds painfully. The last time Logan was in the hospital, it was for something completely different. But this… this is worse.
Everything else the doctor says blurs together. I can’t focus. My thoughts are all over the place, swirling in a chaotic storm of fear and guilt.
"Can I see him, please? I need to see my husband," I ask, my voice barely steady.
The doctor nods. "He’s in room 304. Just step out of this office, go straight down the hall, and you’ll see the door labeled 304."
"Okay… thank you, Doctor."
I didn’t waste another second. I stand up and rush out of his office, my heart pounding harder with each step.
Following his directions, I reach the door. My hand trembles as I place it on the doorknob. My chest tightens with fear, dreading what I’m about to see.
Just open it, a voice in my head urges.
I inhale sharply and push the door open.
The moment my eyes land on Logan, my breath catches in my throat.
Oh my God… this is not looking good.
I rush to his bedside, my heart-shattering at sight before me. His chest rises and falls steadily, but everything else about him looks wrong.
His head is wrapped in thick bandages. A brace is around his neck, and there’s a large tube—something I don’t even understand—connected to him. His skin is pale, almost lifeless.
And it’s my fault.
The guilt slams into me so hard that I freeze in place. My body refuses to move, as if standing still could somehow reverse what’s happened.
A single tear slips down my cheek, then another. I don’t even bother wiping them away.
Summoning what little strength I have left, I finally take a step forward. My fingers tremble as I reach out and take his hand in mine. It feels warm, yet he looks so fragile, so still.
I study his face, memorizing every detail. His sharp jawline, the faint stubble, the curve of his lips—everything that makes him.
But right now, he isn’t himself. He’s broken. And it feels like I’m breaking too.
I squeeze my eyes shut, struggling to put words to the emotions crashing inside me. It’s like an invisible hand is gripping my chest, squeezing tighter and tighter, making it almost impossible to breathe.
"I'm so sorry, Logan," I whisper, my voice trembling as tears stream down my face.
I clutch his hand a little tighter, hoping—praying—that somehow he can hear me. "Please come back to me. I miss you… Shawn misses you too."
At the mention of Shawn’s name, my heart skips a beat.
Shawn.
I had been so consumed by everything happening that I completely forgot—Logan was supposed to be with him. And now, my little boy is alone, waiting for his dad, while his father lies unconscious in a hospital bed.
A fresh wave of guilt crashes over me. I need to let Logan’s family know what happened.
With that thought, I lean in closer, bringing my lips near his ear. "I love you," I whisper. "And I’m so sorry."
Then, with a heavy heart, I turn and walk out of the room.
The receptionist flashes me a bright, polite smile as I pass by too fake, too forced.
What do I know? I think bitterly. I can’t be loved by them.
I push the thought away as I step outside, the cool air doing nothing to ease the storm inside me.
Getting into my car, I start the engine and drive toward Logan’s house. My thoughts spin uncontrollably.
Why did the caller refer to me as his wife? And why did I just go along with it—why did I call him my husband?
I shake my head, trying to clear the questions, but they linger like an ache I can’t ignore.
Before I know it, I pull into Logan’s driveway.
The moment I step out of the car, Shawn’s face lights up, and he runs toward me, his little legs moving as fast as they can.
I barely have time to breathe before I scoop him into my arms, holding him close.
How do I tell him? How do I look into his innocent eyes and say that his dad is fighting for his life in a hospital bed?
"Where’s Dad?" he asks, his voice filled with pure curiosity and trust.
I hesitate. "Dad is…" I trail off, forcing a small smile, not wanting him to sense that something is wrong. But I was wrong.
Shawn tilts his head and looks up at me with those big, soulful eyes. "Mom… tell me the truth. Is something wrong with Dad?"
His words hit me hard. I blink down at him, studying his face, my heart twisting.
"Why do you think something is wrong with him?" I ask, unsure of where this conversation is heading.
He shifts in my arms, his little brows furrowing as if searching for the right words.
"Because…" He pauses, staring into my eyes. "Because he was—"
I stumble back, gripping him tighter as I watch him with wide eyes.
$Chapter