Page 97 of Returned Mail

…and a little too late.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mia

Seconds stretch into hours, or maybe it's the opposite.

Maybe everything is moving too fast, and I'm the only one stuck.

Around me, the hospital continues. People walk past. Living their normal lives while mine is ending twenty feet away behind a door I can't open. I sink into a chair in the waiting area. My hands are shaking so badly I have to clasp them together. The alarms have stopped. The intercom is silent. But I don't know what that means. I don't know whether silence is good or the worst thing possible.

I came all this way. Twenty-seven hours. Three flights. Halfway across the world, and I still might lose him. I might have arrived just in time to watch him slip away. The cruelty of it sits heavy in my chest. Proximity without access. Presence without power.

I'm here.

But it doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. I press my hands over my mouth and try not to scream.

I finally hear footsteps, and I look up. It's a nurse, not the one from the front desk, but someone older, with kind eyes and tired lines around her mouth. “Mia?”

My name sounds strange in her voice.

I nod because I can't speak. “The doctor would like to speak with you.” I stand on legs that don't feel like mine and follow her down a hallway that seems to stretch forever.

The doctor is younger than I expected. Maybe in his mid-forties, with dark circles under his eyes. Scrubs still wrinkled from whatever just happened in that room. But his expression is kind. Tired, but kind.

“Mia,” he says, and I realize the nurse must have told him my name. “I'm Dr. Vega. I've been overseeing Sergeant Hale's care.” I nod. Still can't speak. He gestures to a chair, but I shake my head. If I sit, I'll collapse.

“We were able to stabilize him,” he says. The words hit me like a physical blow. Stabilize. He's alive.

George is alive.

“His blood pressure is holding now. That's good. But I need you to understand something. He's still in critical condition.” The relief drains as quickly as it came. “He sustained significant trauma to his abdomen and chest. He had some internal bleeding. We had to perform emergency surgery to repair the damage.”

I'm nodding, but I'm not sure I'm processing any of the information he is sharing with me.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Dr. Vega continues, his voice steady but gentle. “The injuries were extensive. We had to reconstruct several areas. It was—” He pauses. “It was rough for a while.”

My throat tightens.

“But he made it through.”

“Is he—” My voice cracks. “Is he going to be okay?”

Dr. Vega's expression softens. “The next forty-eight to seventy-two hours are crucial. We'll be monitoring him around the clock. If he crashes again—” He stops himself. “We're watching him very carefully. Any sign of decline, we'll intervene immediately.”

“But if he makes it through?”

“If he makes it through this window?” Dr. Vega nods slowly. “Then his prognosis improves significantly. The surgeries went as well as they could have, given the circumstances. If his body can stabilize and start healing, full recovery is possible.”

Full recovery.

The words feel impossible.

“But he needs time,” the doctor adds. “His body has been through significant trauma. We've sedated him to give him the best chance to heal. He won't wake up for at least a few days. Maybe longer. We can’t know exactly when.”

“Can I—”, I swallow hard. “Can I see him?” Dr. Vega studies me for a moment. Then nods.

“Just for a few minutes. He needs rest.” I’m already moving before he finishes the sentence, and when she opens the door, the world stops.