Chapter 138

Chapter 138
Anna POV


I don't know how long we stayed like that, but eventually the sobs subsided into ragged breaths, and I became aware of the silence in the room, broken only by the mechanical rhythm of Helen's monitors. I started to pull away, embarrassed by my breakdown, but Edward's body had gone rigid against mine, and when I looked up at his face, I saw something strange there—an intensity in his eyes that made my breath catch.

"What is it?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.

"I think..." He paused, his gaze fixed on something past my shoulder. "Anna, I think I just saw Helen's hand move."

For a second, I couldn't process the words. They hung in the air between us, too impossible to be real, and I felt my heart stutter in my chest.

"What?" I pulled back fully, turning to look at Helen's still form on the bed. "Are you sure? Edward, are you—"

"Her fingers," he said, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "I saw them twitch. Just slightly, but I'm certain."

I stared at Helen's hand, lying motionless on the white sheet exactly where I'd left it when I'd turned to Edward. There was no movement now, no sign that anything had changed, and for a moment I wondered if he'd imagined it, if the emotional intensity of the moment had made him see something that wasn't there. But Edward wasn't the type to imagine things, wasn't prone to flights of fancy or wishful thinking, and the certainty in his voice made my pulse quicken with something between hope and terror.

I moved back to the bedside in three quick steps, grabbing Helen's hand again and leaning close, my own hands trembling now as I searched her face for any sign of consciousness.

"Helen?" My voice came out shaky, desperate. "Helen, can you hear me? If you can hear me, if you're in there, please... please move your hand again. Just a little. Anything. Please."

Silence. The monitors beeped their steady rhythm. The ventilator hissed. Helen's face remained as serene and unreachable as ever.

"Please," I whispered again, gripping her hand tighter. "I need to know you're okay. I need to know you can hear me. Please, Helen."

Nothing.

I felt Edward's presence behind me again, and then his hand was on mine, warm and steady, his fingers threading through mine in a gesture that was both comforting and grounding. I looked up at him, and he met my gaze with an expression that was surprisingly gentle, surprisingly vulnerable.

"She heard you," he said quietly, and there was no doubt in his voice, no hedging or uncertainty. "I saw it, Anna. I wouldn't lie to you about this."

Something in the way he said it—the earnestness, the raw honesty—made me believe him, made me want to believe him even though my rational mind said it was impossible.

"But I can't..." I gestured helplessly at Helen's motionless form. "She's not responding now. What if it was just—"

"It wasn't nothing." Edward's hand tightened around mine. "And I know this is hard, but Anna..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You can't break down in front of her like this. You can't let her see—or hear—you crying."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he continued before I could speak.

"If she's in there, if she can hear us, she needs to know you're okay," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Your tears, your fear... it's only gonna disturb her, make her worry about you when she should be focusing on getting better. You need to be strong for her, Anna. You need to let her know you're doing well, that you're safe, so she can feel safe too. So she can find the strength to come back."

His words hit me with the force of truth, and I realized he was right. How many times had Helen sacrificed her own well-being for mine? How many times had she put on a brave face, hidden her own pain to keep me from worrying? If there was even the smallest chance she could hear me, could sense my emotions, then the last thing she needed was to feel my despair.

I took a shaky breath and wiped at my eyes with the back of my free hand, trying to pull myself together. Edward released my other hand and stepped back slightly, giving me space but staying close enough that I could feel his support, his silent encouragement.

I turned back to Helen, and this time when I spoke, I forced my voice to be steady, infused it with all the hope and determination I could muster.

"You're right," I said, and I wasn't sure if I was talking to Edward or to Helen or to myself. "Helen, you don't need to worry about me. I'm doing great, actually. Better than I have in a long time."

The lie felt necessary, felt like the right kind of lie, the kind told out of love rather than fear.

"I'm taking care of myself," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. "I'm working on my art, and I'm coming to visit you every week, I promise. And when you wake up—when, not if—we're gonna do all those things we used to talk about. We'll go to Central Park and feed the swans by the lake. We'll have picnics on the grass, and we'll go to that botanical garden you always wanted to see, the one with the rose exhibition. Remember how you used to cut out pictures of roses from magazines and stick them on the fridge? We'll see every variety they have, Helen. All of them."

I paused, searching for any sign of response, any flicker in her eyelids or twitch in her fingers. There was nothing visible, but as I spoke, I noticed something—a barely perceptible change in one of the numbers on the heart monitor, a tiny fluctuation that might mean nothing or might mean everything.

"And you better wake up soon," I added, letting a touch of playfulness creep into my voice, "because strawberry season won't last forever, and you know how much you love strawberry shortcake. I'll make you the biggest one you've ever seen, Helen. I'll pile it so high with whipped cream it'll be ridiculous. But you gotta wake up first, okay? You gotta come back to me."

I squeezed her hand one more time, pouring everything I had into that gesture—all my love, all my hope, all my desperate need for her to fight her way back from wherever she'd gone. And maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe it was just the power of suggestion after what Edward had said he'd seen, but I could have sworn I felt the faintest pressure against my palm, the ghost of a response that was gone before I could be sure it was real.

Edward and I stayed a while longer, but eventually the nurse came by for Helen's afternoon check, and it seemed like a natural time to leave. I kissed Helen's forehead, whispered a quiet goodbye, and followed Edward out into the hallway, my emotions a tangled mess of hope and doubt and something that felt dangerously close to happiness.

Outside, the late morning sun was climbing toward noon, and the heat was starting to build, making the air shimmer slightly over the parking lot asphalt. But instead of heading toward the car, I found myself turning toward the narrow trail that led up the hill behind the facility, a path I'd noticed on previous visits but never explored.

"I need to walk for a bit," I said, more to myself than to Edward. "Clear my head."

I didn't ask him to come with me, didn't even look back to see if he was following, but somehow I wasn't surprised when I heard his footsteps on the trail behind me, steady and unhurried, giving me space but refusing to let me be alone.