EDWIN

After she recieved a call, she drove me home and before I could bid her farewell she is gone. I went inside replaying the events of the day in my mind. Her words, "Make me want you, Edwin," kept echoing in my head. I was completely confused and distressed. I drifted off to sleep and soon sent her a message saying goodnight.

The next morning, I went out early and walked to her office. I waited for her all day, my heart aching with a mix of longing and worry. Every moment felt like an eternity as I stood there, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I watched the door anxiously, longing for her presence and fearing that something might be wrong. I tried calling her, but her phone was turned off. I even asked her PA, but she couldn't reach her either. My concern grew, but I decided to keep waiting for her to come back later.

Two weeks passed, and she still hadn't come to the office. I remained there, consumed by a deep sense of longing and uncertainty. I stayed in the office, eating and sleeping there, holding on to the hope that she would eventually return. Amy and I both grew increasingly concerned. None of us could get through to her, and even Adam had no luck in reaching her.

It was 8 PM, and I was still waiting, my heart sinking with each passing minute. Amy suddenly started crying as she received a call from Adam.

"What happened, Amy? Don't cry. What's going on?" I asked her, my voice trembling with worry.

"M-Ms. Everelt was in a car accident," she sobbed.

The words hit me like a wave of cold despair. Tears filled my eyes as the reality of the situation sank in. The hope I had held onto shattered, leaving me overwhelmed with helplessness.

I couldn't stop crying. I didn't even realize I was sobbing until my vision blurred and I collapsed to the ground. Despite the tears streaming down my face, I managed to say, "Come on, let's go to the hospital. She's admitted there."

We arrived at the hospital and went to the reception. They informed us that she was in surgery. Amy and I waited outside the operating room, our hearts heavy with dread.

I stood up and asked Adam for an update. He told me she had been in surgery for five hours. I saw the deep worry in his eyes as he struggled to comfort me, holding back his own tears. He gave me a reassuring hug, but his own sadness was palpable.

Me, Amy, and Adam took turns caring for her, staying by her side. I insisted on telling her parents about the accident, but Adam urged me to wait, saying it would be even harder for them to hear now. I agreed, understanding that he had known her for ten years and was deeply troubled.

It's been three days, and she still hasn't woken up. Her condition is stable, but the uncertainty is unbearable. Adam is consumed with guilt, blaming himself for not being more vigilant. He's been agonizing over every detail, while Amy and I try to offer what comfort we can. Amy went to get some food, and Adam went to work, though he was clearly struggling.

I remained at the hospital, feeling a profound sadness and helplessness. I reflected on how much she meant to me, the precious moments we shared, and the painful reality of how quickly everything had changed. Each minute without her felt like an eternity, and the weight of the situation pressed down on me with unrelenting heaviness.

I missed her deeply. I held her hand and whispered, "Please wake up. Amy, Adam, and I are waiting for you." Tears streamed down my face as I pressed her hand to my forehead, overcome with grief. I sobbed uncontrollably, feeling the crushing weight of my fear and despair.

Then, through my tears, I heard a faint voice, "Did you miss me so much, Edwin, that you started crying for me?" I looked up in disbelief to see her eyes fluttering open. She started crying too, her tears mingling with mine. "I missed you so much," she whispered. I kissed her forehead, holding her close, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the sadness.

Adam arrived soon after, and together we embraced her, tears flowing freely as we comforted each other. The joy of her awakening was bittersweet, overshadowed by the fear of what could have been. The thought of losing her had been almost too much to bear. I had already endured the pain of losing loved ones twice before, and the thought of facing that kind of loss again was unbearable.

My heart was heavy with guilt. I couldn't shake the feeling that my presence in her life had only brought more pain. In my sorrow, I made the painful decision that it would be better for her to be happy without me. She had people who cared deeply for her, who could support her far better than I ever could. With a broken heart, I left the hospital and went to the office. As I packed up my things and wrote my resignation letter, the weight of my decision felt like a crushing blow.

Walking away from her life felt like tearing away a part of myself. The finality of it all was devastating. I could barely see through my tears as I left, knowing that I was leaving behind the one person I loved most. I hoped she would find happiness without me, even as I struggled to find solace in the emptiness of my own heart.