The hospital room carried a kind of quiet that felt heavier than it should. Machines breathed in soft beeps, the monitor blinked like a distant lighthouse, and the hallway outside my door filled with footsteps that never paused long enough to belong to anyone familiar. What was supposed to be a short stay stretched into two long weeks, and somewhere in the middle, the days blurred together until time felt like a fog.
My children lived far away, anchored by work and responsibilities that made quick visits impossible. Friends called when they could, promising they’d come soon. I understood—life doesn’t stop just because someone ends up in a hospital bed. But nights still felt endless. Once the lights dimmed and the floor slowed down, loneliness had room to settle in. That’s when he started appearing. A nurse—at least I believed he was—always arriving close to midnight.
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