❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ WEDDING VOWS ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ he's watched her handle chaos without flinching, watched her bravery grow every day. somehow, in all of it, he lost control of what he felt for her. ❜

𝑇𝐼𝑀 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑍𝐸.

The corridor around him seemed to blur, the sounds of nurses passing by and the beeping of machines fading into the background. His grip tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening, but for a moment, he couldn't speak.

His heart pounded in his chest, a sudden, deafening thud that reverberated through his entire body.

Isabel.

Her name hit him like a punch to the gut. He hadn't heard it out loud in so long, not from someone like Grey—not with that tone. The weight of her name, of what it meant, crashed over him, flooding his mind with memories he had tried so hard to bury.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Where?"
The word came out gruff, almost strained, but it was all he could manage.

Grey's response was steady, professional, but there was something softer beneath it—an understanding. "Dumpster in Boyle Heights. She's alive, Tim. But it's bad. They're sending back up and medics over now, but I thought you should know."

Tim pressed his back against the cold hospital wall, his head tipping back as he stared at the ceiling, trying to process what he'd just heard. His heart raced, but not in the same way it had moments ago in the room with Charlotte. This was different. This was a surge of fear, anger, relief, and pain, all twisted together into a knot in his chest.

Isabel. His wife. The woman who had spiraled so far into addiction that he couldn't pull her out, no matter how hard he tried. He had loved her once—still did, in some quiet, hidden part of himself—but he had learned or at least semi-forced himself to live without her. Forced himself to move forward, even when it felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind.

And now she was back. Not in the way he had imagined. Not clean and whole, but broken, in a hospital room, barely hanging on.

He let out a shaky breath, his hand running through his hair in frustration. He hadn't prepared for this—not now. Not when things with Charlotte were finally...something.

The kiss they'd shared replayed in his mind, the warmth, the closeness. The way she had leaned into him with such trust, such certainty. And yet, here he was, being pulled back into a part of his life he thought was long over.

"Bradford, you still there?" Grey's voice pulled him back into the moment.

"Yeah," Tim rasped, his voice tight. He cleared his throat, pushing down the emotions threatening to rise to the surface. "Thanks for telling me. I'll—" He paused, not sure what to say next. "I'll figure it out."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and then Grey's voice softened. "Take care of yourself, Tim. This wasn't your fault."

Tim clenched his jaw, the words hitting harder than they should have. Grey was right. Isabel's addiction leading to this wasn't his fault, but that didn't make this any easier.

He ended the call without saying goodbye, shoving the phone back into his pocket with a rough, frustrated movement. His mind raced, conflicted. He felt pulled in two directions—back toward Isabel, the past he couldn't escape, and Charlotte, the future that was suddenly feeling uncertain.

Tim leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, willing the chaos in his mind to settle. He could still feel the ghost of Charlotte's kiss on his lips, the way her body had pressed against his, so full of life, of possibility. But now, that moment felt miles away, overshadowed by the weight of Isabel's name.

He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes, focusing on the white tiles of the hospital ceiling as if they might offer him some clarity. But there was no easy answer, no clear path forward. He was stuck between two worlds, and for the first time in a long time, Tim Bradford wasn't sure which way to turn.

Tim Bradford had always been a man who lived by facts—hard, cold truths that didn't waver with emotion. Science, rules, and evidence gave him control over a world that so often felt chaotic. In the middle of a crime scene, he could read the clues, see the evidence, feel the pulse of the investigation in his veins. There was a strange comfort in it—knowing there was a right answer out there, something tangible to follow.

But this? This wasn't something he could break down with logic.

Fact: Isabel was still his wife, even if she had been mentally gone for what could be years, slipping further away with every hit she took, every corner she turned that led her deeper into addiction.

Fact: Charlotte wasn't his wife. Hell, they weren't even officially together. One kiss, one electric moment in the sterile hospital room, wasn't something that fit into a neat little category. Not something you could check off on a list.

He hated it.

Tim let out a long breath, his eyes staring at the polished tiles beneath his boots, the hospital's fluorescent lights bouncing off the floor in a way that almost made his head hurt.

The smell of antiseptic and cleaning agents hung thick in the air, mingling with the distant scent of coffee from the vending machine down the hall. The walls felt too white, too clean—like they didn't belong in the middle of the mess swirling inside his head.

He could still feel the ghost of Charlotte's kiss lingering on his lips, the way her body had pressed against his, warm and alive. It wasn't just about the physical closeness, it was more than that.

It was the way she looked at him—like she saw through the tough exterior, the hardened cop, and found something worth holding onto underneath. But as much as that scared him, it made him want her even more.

And now, Isabel.

He straightened off the wall, his jaw tight as he walked toward the exit, his footsteps slow, deliberate. The sound of his boots against the tile echoed down the hallway, a steady rhythm that felt at odds with the chaos swirling inside him. Every step felt heavier than the last, like he was walking toward something inevitable.

His mind raced. He was trying to rationalize it, trying to put it in terms that made sense—like some kind of equation he could solve.

Fact, Isabel had been found. She was alive, but barely. A fact, and yet it didn't bring the relief he thought it might. There was no simple solution here. She was his wife, sure, but their relationship had died long before she'd ever disappeared.

He reached the exit doors, the cool autumn air hitting him as he stepped outside, cutting through the tension in his body like a cold blade. He welcomed it. It felt real, grounding him in the present moment, even as his thoughts remained tangled in the past.

Tim shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of his phone. His first instinct was to call Grey back, to get more details, to dive headfirst into the situation with Isabel. That's what he was good at—handling crises, taking control, and figuring out the next step.

But something stopped him.

Charlotte.

The image of her lying in that hospital bed, pale and bruised, flashed through his mind. The way she had looked at him, even after everything that had happened, with a soft smile and tired eyes. The way she trusted him, leaned on him, kissed him. It wasn't something he could walk away from—not without feeling like he was abandoning her.

But the fact remained—Isabel was still his wife. A piece of paper said so. A law said so. And he didn't know if he could live with himself if he didn't at least see what was left of the woman he had once loved.

Tim ran a hand over his face, the rough stubble on his jaw scratching against his palm. The night air was thick with the scent of rain, the city alive around him—cars passing by, a siren wailing in the distance. He stood still, caught between two worlds, unable to fully let go of either.

Finally, he exhaled, long and slow, his breath visible in the cool air. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, and he hated that. Hated feeling uncertain, off balance. But for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure the answer was going to come from facts or logic. Maybe it never had.

Tim stared at his phone, its screen glowing against the darkness that surrounded him. The hospital parking lot was nearly deserted, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights that barely pierced the dense, quiet night. It was late—too late. He should go home, get some sleep, clear his head before his next shift. The rational part of him, the part that liked order and facts, told him this.

But sometimes, people don't do what they should.

He let out a slow, reluctant sigh, his thumb hovering over the lock screen. He could just turn the phone off, let it fade back into the silence, into the nothingness. But instead, his thumb slipped down, unlocking the phone, and his fingers instinctively dialed the address of another hospital—the one Isabel was in.

The engine of his car rumbled to life, a low, steady hum that broke the quiet around him. He shifted into gear, pulling out of the lot as the streetlights blurred past, their glow a soft haze through the windshield. The tires crunched lightly against the asphalt, and the city streets stretched out in front of him—empty, quiet, with just the occasional flicker of headlights from a passing car.

As he drove, his mind raced, thoughts tumbling over each other like the lines on the road. Charlotte was still back there, alone in that sterile hospital room, the faint smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss on his lips, the way her hands had trembled ever so slightly when she reached for him.

But then there was Isabel. His wife. The woman he had once sworn to protect, to love, in sickness and in health—even though that promise felt like it belonged to a different life now.

A life that had crumbled under the weight of addiction, of loss, of watching someone he loved slip away bit by bit until she wasn't the same person anymore.

And now she was back.

Tim gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white as the city passed by outside, a blur of shadowed buildings and dimly lit streets. The air in the car was thick, oppressive, as if the weight of his decisions sat heavy on his chest.

His heart pounded in rhythm with the hum of the engine, each beat a reminder that he was driving toward something he couldn't control—something messy and emotional, the exact kind of situation he hated.

He tried to focus on the road, on the solid lines painted there, but his mind kept drifting back. Back to the moment he stood by Charlotte's bedside, her eyes fluttering open, red and weary but alive. The way she'd smiled at him, soft and tired, like she knew—like she could see everything he was feeling without him having to say a word. That moment had felt real, like something he could hold onto, but it had been interrupted too soon.

By this. By Isabel.

The hospital loomed ahead, its bright lights spilling into the night, casting harsh shadows on the concrete. Tim parked and sat in the car for a moment, his hands still gripping the steering wheel, his mind screaming at him to turn around, to go back to Charlotte, to the woman who had been right there, in front of him, wanting him. But instead, he opened the door and stepped into the cool night air.

The smell of rain lingered in the atmosphere, damp and fresh, mingling with the faint scent of gasoline from a nearby street. He could hear the distant hum of city life around him, muffled by the thick hospital walls.

With every step he took toward the entrance, he could feel the weight on his shoulders growing heavier, his heart sinking with the realization of where he was going—and why.

Inside, the hospital was a mirror image of the one he'd just left. The same bright lights, the same sterile smell of disinfectant. It felt like he hadn't left at all, like the two hospitals were somehow connected by the same thread of uncertainty and conflict winding its way through his life.

He approached the nurse's station, his footsteps soft against the linoleum floor, the quiet hum of machines and distant conversations filling the space. The nurse on duty glanced up, recognition flashing in her eyes as she nodded in his direction. She knew who he was. Knew why he was there.

"Room 214," she said softly, her voice gentle but tinged with an underlying sympathy.

Tim nodded, thanking her under his breath before heading toward the elevators. The ride up was slow, the silence thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. When the doors slid open, he stepped out into the hallway, each step bringing him closer to Isabel, to the woman who had once been his world.

He stood outside her door, his hand hovering over the handle, hesitation pulling at him like a weight in his chest. He could walk away. He could turn around, get back in his car, and drive back to Charlotte, where things felt real, where he wasn't bound by old promises and broken memories.

But instead, he pushed the door open.

The room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a soft glow over Isabel's pale figure lying in the hospital bed. The rhythmic beeping of machines filled the air, each sound steady, monotonous, like a ticking clock counting down time. She looked fragile, smaller than he remembered, her once-vibrant eyes closed in a deep sleep.

Tim stepped closer, his chest tightening as he took in the sight of her. His wife. The woman who had slipped through his fingers.

In sickness and in health.

That was the vow, wasn't it? The promise he had made all those years ago, standing at an altar in a suit that felt too stiff, his fingers nervously clenching and unclenching at his sides.

The scent of fresh flowers had filled the church, and Isabel's laughter—God, he could still hear it sometimes—had echoed through the space, carefree and full of life. Back then, the words had rolled off his tongue with certainty. I do.

But now, standing here, the weight of those promises felt like a boulder pressing against his chest. He watched her, unsure whether he was here out of duty or because he simply needed closure. His jaw tightened, muscles straining as memories of Isabel, back before the spiral, collided with the reality of the woman lying in front of him.

His hand twitched at his side, fingers curling and uncurling as he debated reaching out to touch her. But something stopped him. It wasn't fear—no, he'd seen enough in his career to know that fear was something he could handle.

It was something deeper, more complicated, like a tangled knot in his chest that refused to loosen no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to reach out, to feel the warmth of her skin under his fingers, to remind himself that she was real, that she was here. But he hesitated.

And why? Because, deep down, he wasn't sure who he was here for anymore—her or himself.

Tim sat down in the stiff, plastic chair beside her bed, the cold surface pressing into his back. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together, the skin on his knuckles stretching white.

His eyes stayed fixed on her face, searching for some flicker of recognition, of life, of the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago. But there was nothing—just the steady beep of the heart monitor, the sterile scent of the hospital, and the distant hum of the city beyond the walls.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, the weight of exhaustion settling deep in his bones. He'd driven here without thinking, without a plan, pulled by something he couldn't quite put into words.

Duty? Maybe.

Love? He wasn't sure anymore.

It felt like a life he'd lived a long time ago, before the nights spent waiting for Isabel to come home, before the constant worry, before the pills and the lies.

His eyes fell to her hand, resting limp against the white hospital sheets. He remembered the way she used to hold his hand, fingers lacing together like they belonged, like they were meant to fit. Now, that hand was still, unmoving, a stark reminder of how much had changed. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to reach out, to touch her, to feel something, anything.

But the words echoed in his mind. In sickness and in health, till death do us part.

Was this what they meant? Was this the part no one ever talks about when you say those vows? The sickness. The distance. The quiet unraveling of everything you thought was solid.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat thick as he leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, willing himself to find clarity. The air felt heavy, too warm, pressing down on him. He closed his eyes briefly, the fluorescent light flickering behind his eyelids, casting shadows in his thoughts.

He remembered their wedding day—the way she had looked at him, eyes filled with so much hope, so much trust. She had smiled, that wide, uninhibited smile of hers, and slipped her hand into his, sealing a bond that was supposed to last a lifetime. And here he was, living up to that promise.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, though. Not this quiet, suffocating, painful reality. But the vow wasn't conditional, was it? He hadn't promised to love her only when things were easy, when the sun was shining and the world made sense. He had promised to love her through the storm, through the sickness, through the dark.

In sickness and in health. He said it. He meant it. And damn him if he was going to break that vow.

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝑂𝐹𝑇 knock on the hospital door broke through the haze clouding Charlotte's mind, pulling her attention away from the sterile walls that had grown all too familiar. She blinked slowly, her gaze shifting toward the door as a flicker of hope stirred in her chest.

Maybe Tim had come back. It felt like he'd been gone for hours—though she wasn't sure. Time had lost its meaning, drifting in and out of focus in the aftermath of the overdose. Her head still felt heavy, and the dull throb behind her eyes made everything feel distant, blurry.

She managed a tired smile, a fragile thing, but it was there. "Come in," she murmured, her voice soft and hoarse.

The door cracked open, just a sliver at first, and through the gap, a teddy bear peeked in. It was comically oversized, with a bright blue ribbon tied around its neck, the sight of it pulling a quiet, surprised laugh from her lips.

The sound was almost foreign, something that hadn't come easily in the past few days. For a moment, she let herself believe Tim had brought it—maybe he was trying to lift her spirits after everything.

"Is this why you took so long?" she asked, her smile growing slightly as she straightened in bed, anticipation bubbling beneath her exhaustion.

But instead of Tim's familiar face, the door swung open to reveal Jackson and John standing just beyond the threshold, grinning like two mischievous kids caught in the act. Jackson was holding the giant bear, his grin wide, while John leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"What! Who told you we were coming to visit?" Jackson teased, stepping into the room with exaggerated caution, as if the bear itself might tip off some grand secret.

Her smile faltered for the briefest of moments, just a tiny flicker of disappointment, like a candle sputtering in the wind. Charlotte had been so sure it was Tim. The ache of that realization pressed down on her chest for a heartbeat before she forced the smile back into place, more for their sake than her own.

She glanced between the two men, her heart sinking ever so slightly, but she didn't want them to see that. Didn't want them to know that the person she needed in that moment wasn't them, no matter how sweet they were for visiting. The air felt a little colder, or maybe that was just her.

"Are you two serious?" she said, shaking her head lightly, the remnants of her laughter still lingering in her voice. "You brought that ridiculous thing in here?" Her tone was light, teasing, but underneath it, she felt the weight of Tim's absence like a stone in her chest.

Jackson beamed, clearly proud of himself, and set the bear down beside the bed with a dramatic flourish. "We thought you could use some company."

John chuckled, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, his presence always more steady, more grounded. "Yeah, plus, he doesn't talk as much as we do, so it's a win-win," he added, nodding toward the stuffed bear.

The room filled with the easy banter between friends, but Charlotte's mind kept wandering back to Tim. She hadn't expected to feel so... alone without him. Even with Jackson and John there, her heart kept pulling her thoughts back to the way Tim had looked at her before he left, the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed distracted. He hadn't said much—just a kiss, a few words. But then he was gone.

And now, with Jackson and John trying to cheer her up, the absence of Tim felt even sharper. Like the space he should be occupying in her life, in this moment, was just... empty.

Her eyes drifted to the giant teddy bear sitting by the bed, its beady eyes staring back at her with an expression she couldn't quite place. It was ridiculous, really—sitting there, oversized and out of place in the sterile, clinical environment of the hospital room. But it was also a reminder of something simpler, something warmer.

She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, forcing herself to focus on Jackson and John, who were still trying to make her laugh, still trying to distract her from the heaviness weighing her down. And for their sake, she smiled again—a little wider this time, a little more convincing.

"Thanks, guys," she said softly, her fingers brushing the soft fabric of the bear's paw. "I really needed this."

But even as she said the words, her heart tugged elsewhere. To where Tim was. To where he had gone. To what had pulled him away.

i'm actually cackling like a witch because i know the reactions are going to be insane for this and the next chapter

go thank timburtonandsawlover for FORCING me to publish these chapters early ugh! (i literally offered to)

please feel free to engage with the story !!
– comment, like, & interact. your participation keeps me motivated! thank you!!

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 23.10.24 ❞