Seven years later.

Alex

"Doctor, it's an emergency case," a nurse exclaimed, rushing toward me as my team and I were leaving the operating room after an exhausting eight-hour surgery.

"He just came out of an eight-hour surgery. He needs rest," Ethan said, approaching us from another direction.

"I'll handle it. What is it?" he added. The nurse hurried to Ethan, and I began to walk to my room with my team, completely drained.

"It's a road accident. The patient's name is Leo Reyes, twenty-eight years old," the nurse reported. I froze when I heard the name. It had been seven years since I last heard it. No one dared to mention that name in front of me, fearing I would lose my composure. But as soon as I heard it, I knew it was him—Leo, my love.

I immediately ran to the emergency room.

"Alex," Ethan shouted, following closely behind. We arrived at the emergency room almost simultaneously.

I halted at the door, my eyes locking onto the familiar figure lying on the patient bed, his entire body covered in blood.

Other doctors and nurses were desperately trying to revive him.
"We're losing his pulse," one doctor shouted.

As I stood there, frozen in place, the scene around me blurred into a whirlwind of chaotic activity. The familiar smell of antiseptic and blood filled the air, and the urgent voices of my colleagues melded into a cacophony. My heart pounded in my chest, and it felt as if the room was closing in on me. Leo, my love, was lying on the bed, covered in blood, his life hanging by a thread.

The past seven years flashed before my eyes. The pain of Leo's sudden disappearance had been a wound that never fully healed. I had buried myself in work, trying to forget, but I could never escape the memories. And now, here he was, back in my life in the most horrific way possible.

"Alex, we need you," Ethan's voice broke through my fog of thoughts. He grabbed my shoulder, his eyes filled with both concern and urgency. "Leo needs you."

I snapped back to the present. This wasn't the time to be paralyzed by emotion. Leo needed me, and I was the best chance he had.

"What's his status?" I asked, stepping forward.
"Severe trauma from the accident," one of the doctors replied. "Multiple fractures, internal bleeding, and his pulse is weak. We're losing him."

"Clear!" the other doctor shouted, administering a shock to Leo’s chest. His body jerked, but there was no response.

"We're losing him," another nurse echoed, panic edging her voice.

"No, we're not," I said firmly, stepping forward and taking control.

"Push another round of epinephrine, and prepare for intubation."

The team sprang into action. I scrubbed in quickly, my mind laser-focused on the task at hand. I couldn't afford to think about the emotional implications right now. Leo's life depended on me staying professional and doing everything in my power to save him.

As I made the first incision, my hands moved with the precision honed by years of practice, but my mind was filled with memories of Leo—his laugh, his smile, the way he used to look at me with such love in his eyes. How had we ended up here? All was my mistake. I lost him because of my stupid decision. 

"Ethan, I need you to start a central line. We need to get his blood pressure up," I ordered, my voice calm but urgent. He nodded and set to work, his movements just as efficient and focused.

The room buzzed with activity. Monitors beeped, nurses moved swiftly, and doctors barked orders. But all I could focus on was Leo. His face, pale and lifeless, was a stark contrast to the vibrant man I once knew.

"Hang in there, Babe," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "You’re not leaving me. Not like this."

Minutes felt like hours as we worked to stabilize him. We managed to get a faint pulse back, but his condition was still critical. We needed to get him to surgery to stop the internal bleeding.

"Prep the OR. We need to move him now," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. Ethan and I carefully transferred Leo onto a gurney and rushed him to the operating room.

Once inside, the familiar environment of the OR helped me focus. This was my domain, my battlefield. I could save him here. I had to.

"Scalpel," I demanded, holding out my hand. A nurse quickly placed it in my grip. I made the initial incision, my hands steady despite the weight of the situation.

"Clamp," I called, and Ethan handed me the instrument. We worked in unison, the team moving like a well-oiled machine. Hours passed in a blur of blood, sutures, and constant monitoring.

"His BP is stabilizing," a nurse reported, a hint of relief in her voice.

"Good, let's keep it that way. We’re almost there," I replied, my focus unbroken.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we managed to control the bleeding and stabilize his vital signs. The surgery was a success, but the battle was far from over. Leo was still in critical condition, and the next 24 hours would be crucial.

"We've done all we can for now," I said, stepping back and allowing the nurses to finish closing him up. Exhaustion washed over me, but I couldn't leave his side.

As Leo was wheeled into the ICU, I followed closely, not wanting to let him out of my sight. I needed to be there when he woke up, to see those eyes open and know he was going to be okay.

I sat by his bed, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a comforting sound. The rest of the world faded away, leaving just the two of us in that sterile room.

The past few hours had been a blur of adrenaline and fear, but now the reality of the situation was sinking in. Leo was back, and he was alive. But the questions were overwhelming. Where has he been for the past seven years?

"Alex," Ethan's voice brought me back to the present. He was standing beside me, looking as exhausted as I felt. "You should get some rest. You've done everything you can for now."

"I can't leave him," I replied, my voice hoarse. "Not again."

Ethan nodded, understanding. "I'll make sure he's monitored closely. We'll know if there's any change in his condition."

Reluctantly, I agreed. My body was screaming for rest, but I couldn't pull myself away from Leo's bedside. I sat down in the chair next to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, each breath a small miracle.

The hours ticked by slowly. Nurses came and went, checking vitals, adjusting medications, but I stayed rooted to my spot. I couldn't leave him. Not now. I owed him that much.

As the hours passed, memories flooded back. The day Leo disappeared had been the worst day of my life.

One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, without a trace.
I knew he was a man of his word, and he had warned me, but I acted carelessly and hid things from him because I didn't want to lose him.
I had searched for him, reported him missing, but it was as if he had vanished into thin air.

Not knowing had been the hardest part. I had never stopped loving him, never stopped hoping that one day he would come back to me.

I still can't believe I endured living in a world without Leo.
These seven years felt like more than a thousand days and nights, filled with every minute and every second of yearning and pain. Now, seeing Leo, I suddenly realized how I really got through it.

No one could understand this. Only I knew what it felt like to have sleepless nights, to wake up in the middle of a dream crying, and to search the world in hopes of finding someone only to come up empty. But one thing I was sure of was that I would see him again. I was determined to get him back. I knew I was nothing without him, that I needed him to survive in this world.

Now he had finally returned. My babe had returned to my side, and I was resolved never to repeat the same mistake again.

I wouldn't let him walk away as I did seven years ago in that campus hallway. If I had followed him that day, not let him go alone, we wouldn't be in this situation now. And now he was here, but in a condition that broke my heart.

I reached out and gently took his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "Leo," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "Please come back to me. I can't lose you again."

The night dragged on, and exhaustion finally caught up with me. I must have dozed off in the chair because the next thing I knew, a nurse was gently shaking my shoulder.

"Doctor," she said softly. "There's been a slight improvement in his condition. His vitals are stabilizing."

I blinked away the sleep and looked at the monitors. She was right. Leo's heart rate was more regular, and his blood pressure was holding steady. It was a small victory, but it was enough to give me hope.