When I finally enter the Intensive Care Unit, the cold greets me like a sharp blow. The room is filled with dim lights, monitors emitting constant beeps, and the air smells of medicine and lingering hope.
And then I see him.
Dominic lies in bed, motionless, as if he were merely a shadow of himself. His skin is pale, nearly translucent. He has an IV in his arm, an oxygen tube fitted to his nose, and the monitor next to him marks each of his heartbeats slowly. Those heartbeats that, hours ago, beat against my back when he held me.
My steps are slow, reverent, as if I fear breaking the fragile thread that holds him to life. I approached his side and took his hand.
It's warm, thank God, and that's enough to make my tears flow freely.
I leaned down and kissed his knuckles tenderly.
"I'm h
