Chapter 12 : The Realisation

The hospital entrance was buzzing with activity, but Wilson barely noticed. She moved with purpose from her office —black scrubs, sneakers hitting the tiles in quick strides, her hospital coat unbuttoned and swaying behind her. Her mind was already racing, calculating the best way to handle Mrs. Patterson's meltdown.

Then she saw her.

Stella.

Standing near the nurses' station, arms folded, barefoot like she was in her home, and in a loose hospital gown. Her hair was messy, lips slightly parted as if she had been mid-thought before Wilson's arrival stopped her.

Wilson's steps faltered.

For a brief second, everything else faded.

Stella had been waiting for her. She could see it in her eyes—the frustration, the confusion.

Wilson clenched her jaw. Not now.

She squared her shoulders and walked forward.

But before she could pass, Stella's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Ellah?"

Wilson froze.

The way Stella said her name—soft, uncertain—it did something to her.

Wilson exhaled sharply before turning just enough to meet her gaze. "Go back to bed, Stella."

Stella frowned, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her gown. "You weren't here last night."

Wilson didn't react. She kept her expression impassive.

"I had things to do."

Stella's frown deepened. She looked like she wanted to say more, but Wilson was already moving past her.

She had a crisis to handle.

She didn't look back—but she could feel Stella's eyes following her all the way down the hall.

A QUIET REALISATION 

Wilson pushed open the door to Stella's room, stepping in silently. The dim glow from the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room. Stella lay there, curled up beneath the blanket, her breathing slow and steady.

She looked peaceful. Almost vulnerable.

Wilson sighed and leaned against the door for a moment, hands in her pockets.

She knew she would be discharging her soon today, which meant she wouldn't have a reason to linger around Stella's room anymore. She should be relieved—Stella was recovering well, and that was what mattered. But instead, there was this strange, unsettling ache in her chest.

She had been sure about her feelings for years. She had fallen for Stella since high school, when she barely had the courage to look her in the eye. But what about Stella?

Wilson ran a hand through her shoulder length dreads, frustrated.

Was she beginning to fall too? Or was this just in her head?

With a quiet sigh, Wilson pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. She let herself study Stella's face—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes flickered slightly, as if caught in a dream.

For a moment, she let herself pretend.

Pretend that this wasn't complicated. Pretend that there wasn't a whole life separating them.

She leaned back, her gaze never leaving Stella's face. "What are you doing to me, Stella?" she whispered under her breath.

Stella shifted slightly, letting out a soft sigh.

Wilson stiffened.

For a split second, she thought she had woken her up. But Stella only turned to her side, curling into the blanket.

While Wilson is sitting beside her, lost in thought, Stella murmurs something in her sleep. Maybe it's Wilson's name. Maybe it's a soft, emotional "don't go." It would leave Wilson stunned and wondering if Stella was dreaming about her. 

Wilson, lost in the moment, could reach out as if to tuck a stray hair behind Stella's ear—but stop herself last minute. The urge to touch her, to feel if she's real, would show how much she's struggling to keep her emotions in check.

She struggled with the thought of not seeing her around the hospital anymore. It was ridiculous. They barely even knew each other, yet somehow, she felt… connected.

She exhaled sharply and rubbed her temple. "What am I doing?"

 She was a surgeon. Not some high school girl with a crush.

But still.

She reached for the small notepad in her coat pocket, the one she used for jotting down quick patient notes. She flipped to a blank page, then hesitated. What could she even say?

After a moment of thought, she scribbled down a short message:

"Get well soon, troublemaker. Don't make the nurses' lives harder than mine. - Dr. Wilson."

She tore the page out carefully, folded it, and placed it beside Stella's phone on the bedside table.

One last glance at her, then she stood and quietly left the room.

WILSON'S HOME – A MOMENT OF PEACE 

Wilson dragged herself through the front door, exhausted. The weight of the long day with Emily drinking—surgeries, emergencies, and Stella—pressed down on her like a heavy cloak. She barely had the energy to make it to her bedroom.

She peeled off her coat, tossing it onto a chair, then unbuttoned her shirt as she headed to the bathroom. The hot water felt heavenly against her sore muscles, washing away the stress, but it did nothing to clear her thoughts. Stella's sleeping face. The note she left. The emotions she kept shoving down. She sighed, pushing it all aside.

After changing into comfortable sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, Wilson climbed into bed, grabbing her phone. First things first—checking on her son.

She pulled up the camera feed in his room. The nanny had already settled him in his crib, but he wasn't sleeping. Instead, he was wide awake, staring at the ceiling, little hands moving slightly as if reaching for something.

Wilson smiled tiredly. As exhausted as she was, she couldn't go to bed without giving him a goodnight kiss.

Dragging herself out of bed, she walked to his room. The moment she stepped inside, his tiny eyes landed on her. A soft, sleepy smile tugged at his lips, and Wilson's heart melted.

"You were waiting for me, weren't you?" she murmured, lifting him gently from the crib. He rested his tiny head against her chest, his warmth seeping into her.

She rocked him slowly, humming a little—something her mother used to do when she was a child. His breathing slowed, his tiny fingers loosening their grip on her shirt.

Soon, he drifted off to sleep.

Wilson placed him back in the crib carefully, brushing a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Goodnight, little man," she whispered before heading back to her room.

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR

The night was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside. Wilson, bone-tired, had barely settled into bed when—

Knock. Knock.

Her eyes snapped open.

She blinked against the dim light, her heartbeat picking up. Who the hell would be knocking at this hour?

With a groggy sigh, she swung her legs over the bed and walked to the door, her mind half-expecting bad news from the hospital.

But when she opened it—

Emily stood there, smirking.

Wilson's brows furrowed. "Emily?"

"Surprised?" Emily's voice was smooth, teasing.

Wilson stared. "How did you make it here, I left you drunk and sleeping?"

Emily chuckled. "I have my ways." Then, before Wilson could react, she stepped inside.

Wilson tensed. Everything about this felt off. But before she could say a word, Emily grabbed her by the collar, pulled her in—and kissed her.

Wilson froze.

Emily's lips pressed firm against hers, insistent. The scent of alcohol lingered between them, but that wasn't what made Wilson's mind spiral.

It was the fact that she didn't want this. Memories of Emily, she's been trying to bury all started flooding In her mind.

She pulled back, gripping Emily's arms. "Emily, stop—"

A sharp inhale.

Wilson's body went rigid.

Stella stood in the doorway. Emily had not seen Stella. 

Stella's face was unreadable at first. Then, a flicker of something Wilson couldn't quite place.

Shock. Confusion. Hurt?

Wilson's chest tightened.

Emily, still holding onto her, smirked. "Well, this is interesting."

Stella's eyes met Wilson's, searching, questioning—before they darkened.

Wilson felt like her feet were glued to the floor. "Stella, I —"

But Stella had already turned and walked away.

No. No, no.

Wilson shoved Emily off her. "What the hell are you doing?"

Emily shrugged, her expression unreadable. "Relax. Thought you'd enjoy the company."

Wilson's jaw clenched. "Get out."

Emily laughed. "You're so tense, Ellah. Loosen up a little."

Wilson didn't wait. She grabbed the door and slammed it shut.

Then, she ran.

Her legs carried her down the hall, but when she reached the door Stella had walked through—

It was gone.

No door. No hallway.

Just—darkness.

Wilson's heart pounded. The air felt thick. Suffocating.

She gasped—

And woke up.

Her chest heaved, sweat slicked across her forehead.

She whipped her head around, her room coming into focus. She was in bed. Alone.

Her heart still raced as she grabbed her phone.

Midnight.

She pressed a hand against her face. A dream. Just a damn dream.

But why did it feel so real?

She ran a hand through her hair, still trying to shake off the lingering panic.

She knew Emily was going to be a trouble. she fell into bed, sleep took her instantly