She kissed him goodbye, knowing he wouldn’t remember her tomorrow.


Malory had sat beside Cole’s hospital bed for over six months, waiting for something ,anything, to change.


 At first, she believed in miracles. Now she believed in routine: the soft hiss of oxygen, the steady beep of monitors, the low hum of machines keeping her husband alive.


Cole had always been motion. He rode fast, laughed loud, lived like the world couldn’t catch him. The crash had ended that. He was paralyzed, his memory fractured into broken pieces she could no longer fit together.


But she stayed.


Everyone else drifted away—his parents, his friends, the ones who couldn’t bear the sight of him. She sat through therapy sessions that went nowhere, birthdays that passed in silence, mornings that started and ended under blinding light.


And now, month seven, she was empty.


She hadn’t slept properly in weeks. She wasn’t sure what day it was anymore. No one, not even the nurses, talked to her.


Tonight, she finally whispered yes—to herself. Yes to leaving. Yes to breathing again.


“I love you,” she murmured, brushing her lips against Cole’s forehead. “But I can’t keep doing this.”


He didn’t move. His face was slack, eyes closed, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only proof that he was still here.


She picked up her small duffel bag and turned toward the door.


“Mal…”


Her name, barely a breath.


She froze. 

Slowly turned.


Cole’s eyes were open, hazy but focused on her.


“Cole?” she whispered.


“Don’t… go.”


Her heart twisted.


“You remember me?”

His eyes fluttered, rolled back. The moment was gone.


The monitor beeped, steady and indifferent.


She told herself it didn’t matter. She’d imagined it. She had to leave.


In the hallway, the lights buzzed faintly.


The nurse at the station didn’t look up as Malory passed. She pressed the elevator button and stepped inside.


The ride felt endless.


She caught her reflection in the metal door—pale, hollow-eyed. She looked like someone she didn’t recognize.


The elevator stopped.


The doors didn’t open.


Malory frowned and pressed the button again. Nothing. The overhead light flickered once, twice, then went dark.


Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, the glow of the screen cutting through the dark.


[YOU CAN’T LEAVE.]


Her breath hitched.


“What?”


Before she could move, the elevator jolted. The lights came back on, and the doors slid open onto the lobby.


It was empty. The receptionist’s chair was turned away from the desk. The clock on the wall read at 2:17 but the second hand wasn’t moving.


The air felt colder.


Thicker.


She crossed to the glass doors, ready to step into the rain—and froze.


The reflection staring back wasn’t hers.


There was nothing there.


No outline.


No shadow.


Malory raised a trembling hand. It passed straight through the glass like smoke.


“No…” she whispered.


“No, that’s not possible.”


Then the beeping started. A flatline, distant but familiar.


She turned and saw down the long corridor, through walls that now seemed transparent, into Cole’s room. Nurses rushed in, voices sharp and panicked.


Malory ran. Her feet made no sound. The hallway stretched, bent, twisted but she reached his room in seconds.


Her hand passed through the door.


Through the people.


“Cole!” she screamed.

“I’m right here!”


No one looked at her.


The doctor barked orders. The defibrillator whined.


Cole’s body jerked, then stilled.


“Again!”


Another shock.


Then—beep. Beep. Beep.


The monitor steadied.


His chest rose weakly.


His eyes opened.


For the first time in months, they were clear.


He turned his head slightly, eyes scanning the room. “Malory?”


“I’m here,” she said, her voice breaking.


She reached for him, but her hand slid through his.


That’s when she saw it—her wedding ring, shining faintly, still on her finger. Except it wasn’t her hand anymore. It was pale, translucent, almost not there at all.


And in that instant, the memory returned: the rain-slick road, his laughter, her arms wrapped around his waist. 


The flash of headlights.


The crash.


The cold. 


The silence.


Her whisper came out as a broken confession. “I’m dead.”


Cole’s eyes filled with tears. “I saw you,” he whispered, staring past the doctor, past everyone, straight through her. “You were waiting for me.”


“I was,” she said softly. “I didn’t know I was gone.”


The room began to dim around her, the edges of everything softening like mist.


The machines blurred into white noise.


Cole’s heartbeat was steady now, stronger.

Something tugged at her—gentle, inevitable.


“You can’t stay,” a voice murmured. It sounded like her own.


She looked at Cole one last time. “I need to leave so you can heal.” she said, smiling through the tears that never quite reached her cheeks.


“Get up and live again.”


He blinked slowly.


“I love you, Malory.”


She stepped back into the light. It wrapped around her like the first breath after drowning.


And then she was gone.


In the hospital room, Cole lay still, eyes open, watching the space where she had been.


Outside, the storm broke. The rain eased to silence.


For the first time since the accident, the room felt peaceful.