Shy And Ashamed

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor filled the quiet hospital room, a soft but relentless reminder of the fragile life lying on the bed.

Alex stood near the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring out without really seeing the view beyond the glass. His gaze drifted back to Emma, her face pale against the stark white of the pillow, her chest rising and falling with each measured breath.

She was indeed alive and safe. Yet so vulnerable. So vulnerable that anyone could enter there and attempt to kill her again and she wouldn't even fight back. He wasn't going to leave her again for a moment. He told himself.

His eyes traced the soft curves of her face, the faint bruise marring her temple, the bandage wrapped around her wrist where the rope had bitten into her skin.

Seeing her like this—so broken, so still—made something ache deep in his chest, a tight, unbearable pressure that refused to ease.