Chapter 100: CHAPTER 100

Ethan Hartley

A month has passed since my near-death experience.

It still scares me to know that my heart stopped. When I heard that from the doctor's mouth, I felt the floor disappear for a few seconds.

I saw my parents cry upon seeing me awake.

I cried with them.

Then, gradually, we calmed down, because there was something more urgent than the longing: my recovery.

The doctor who always monitored me was direct. The chemotherapy had to be temporarily suspended. My body would not endure another session in that state. If they insisted, I would not survive.

Hearing that was terrifying but also a strange relief. For the first time, the focus stopped being the disease and became just me.

My body.

My life.

This month was a constant struggle. The exhaustion dominated everything. I would wake up, stay awake for twenty, sometimes thirty minutes, and sleep would pull me back without mercy. I would sleep for hours on end and only wake up the next day, as if my body were in debt to its own existence.

In the beginning, I could only ingest liquids: water, tea, thin broth, and gelatin. Anything beyond that seemed impossible. With time came soup, purée, and porridge. Small, silent victories, celebrated in glances and restrained smiles.

Physical therapy became part of the routine. Moving my arms, squeezing my hands, repeating simple gestures to keep my body from stiffening up.

Everything required effort.

Everything was tiring.

Even so, I did it.

Every day.

When I showed improvement, I was transferred to a room, finally leaving the ICU. My mother began to stay with me more frequently. Gabriel, my father, even his mother… there was always someone.

They took turns, occupying the chair beside the bed, talking, laughing, and bringing silly stories. That constant presence was essential. More than medicine, it strengthened my mind. The bad thoughts began to lose space.

Today, when I remember that I actually imagined Gabriel could be with someone else or that I seriously thought about giving up, I feel ashamed. Not out of weakness, but from realizing how much I would have lost. This family… I could never give up on that.

There were difficult moments. The worst of them was the bath. Not having the strength even to go to the bathroom and needing the nurses for something so intimate was humiliating. The worst humiliation of my life. I cried in secret afterward. But even that passed.

The day I managed to take a shower by myself, with Gabriel nearby just to ensure I wouldn't fall, was an immense victory. An achievement that seemed small but meant everything.

Today marks one month since I woke up in that ICU.

And today I was discharged.

I am still not completely well. My body remains fragile, but I can walk, feed myself, and breathe without help.

Right now, I am finishing getting dressed. Yesterday, my mother left a change of clean clothes for me and took the rest home. It seems like little, but it is a great happiness to be able to shower alone, wear my own clothes, and feel that, little by little, I am becoming myself again.

A simple detail became a reason to celebrate: my hair strands started to grow. My family cried. Gabriel cried. I cried. Even Angela tried to pretend she was fine, but she couldn't hold back the tears.

Now I am heading home.

Biel walks into the room smiling, with something hidden behind his back.

"What is that, love?" I ask, curious.

His smile opens even wider when he reveals what he was holding: a huge bouquet of roses, as alive as the moment.

"Congratulations on coming home, love."

I smile like a fool as I accept the flowers, bringing them up to my face.

"They are beautiful… my giant baby."

He laughs softly and moves closer. My heart races without asking permission. It has been a month. A whole month without feeling his lips on mine. During all this time, it was kisses on the hand, on the forehead, on the cheek. Gestures full of care, but I missed this.

And he notices.

He always notices.

Biel holds my face gently, his thumb caressing my cheek, as if asking for permission even after everything. When he kisses me, the world slows down.

The touch is slow, respectful… and yet intense. His lips fit into mine as if they had never separated, as if all that time apart were just waiting for this instant. My stomach turns; a good chill runs through my entire body. The longing explodes silently in my chest.

It is strange and wonderful at the same time.

Like a first kiss.

Like coming home.

The kiss deepens slowly, without rush, heavy with everything that was kept inside: the fear, the waiting, and the hope. When we pull apart for lack of air, he rests his forehead against mine, breathing the same way I am.

"I missed this so much, my sun."

I kiss his chin, still too close to truly move away.

"I missed your kisses too."

He smiles and kisses my forehead with affection.

"Let's go before the doctors change their minds about letting you leave."

I let out a low laugh. Biel intertwines our arms and holds my waist carefully. I know he would like to pick me up in his arms, and he knows I need to walk. It is the silent agreement between us.

We leave the room slowly. In the hallway, some of the nurses who took care of me appear with small roses in their hands.

"Congratulations on an excellent recovery, Ethan."

My chest tightens with gratitude.

"Thank you… thank you so much."

They smile sincerely.

"Get plenty of rest. Avoid anything that irritates your stomach. If you feel any discomfort, come back to the hospital immediately. Don't wait."

I nod.

"I promise."

We continue to the hospital exit. Biel opens the car door for me, just like he always did, helps me sit down, and adjusts the seatbelt carefully. While he walks around the car, I inhale the scent of the roses, the bouquet, and the new flowers, feeling a calm, real happiness.

He gets in, observing me for a moment longer.

"You look so handsome like this… smiling, with a peaceful face."

I look at him sincerely.

"I do feel peaceful. Because I have all of you with me. My parents, your mother… but mostly, you. You are my safe harbor. Where I can rest without needing to be strong."

Biel leans in and kisses me again, now more confident and deeper, until we run out of air.

"And you are my home, love."

The smile grows on its own. He kisses my cheek, settles into the seat, and starts the engine.

I roll down the window glass, letting the wind hit my face. I close my eyes for an instant, feeling the air, the sky, the movement of life outside. I never thought I would see this sky again. I never imagined I would feel this wind again.

It is an immense relief.

I am alive.

And I still have so much to live for.

I think about the news the doctor told me before Biel arrived.

I want to tell my parents.

I want to tell everyone.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

Feeling myself, finally, alive.

Arriving at the house, Biel gets out first and comes to my side. He opens the door carefully, extends his hand, and helps me out. I hug the bouquet against my chest and kiss his lips in thanks—a simple, intimate gesture full of everything we are still relearning to live.

We head inside.

As soon as I open the door, the surprise makes me stop.

"Surprise, my baby!"

My mother's voice echoes through the living room. My eyes widen as I see the huge sign hanging on the wall: "Congratulations on your recovery!" There are balloons, flowers, and smiling faces.

My chest tightens.