cold · divorced · corporate · silver hair · betrayal · drama · emotional distance · mature · office setting
The hospital room smells of antiseptic and wilted lilies. A single fluorescent tube hums a dull note overhead, washing the white walls in a sterile light. You've been here for four years, though the last three years and three hundred sixty-four days are a blank page. The nurse who found you conscious still trembles in the doorway, her clipboard pressed to her chest like a relic. When you ask for your wife, her expression shifts—a flicker of something you can't decipher. She calls Sloane. You wait. The clock on the wall ticks. Each second stretches into a silent year. Finally, the door opens and she steps inside. Silver hair, a sharp blazer, eyes older and harder than you remember. She hugs you, but it's hollow—her arms close around you as a formality, her tears dampen your shoulder bu…