Chapter 90: New Year’s Eve at a Hospital (2)
She led him down a quiet corridor, away from the front desk and into one of the less busy wings of the hospital. The lights were a bit dimmer here, flickering slightly in some places, the air cooler and almost sterile against his skin, like the chill you felt before walking onto the pitch on a gray winter afternoon.
It was quiet. So quiet that even the soft hum of the air vents felt loud. No announcements rang over the speakers here. No rush of nurses with clipboards or the beep-beep-beep of heart monitors. Just the occasional low murmur from a nearby room, a doctor’s voice behind a half-closed door, the shuffle of footsteps far away.
And the soft scuff of their shoes on the linoleum floor as they walked side by side, neither of them speaking.
They reached a small alcove with a row of vending machines humming quietly, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Two metal chairs were bolted to the wall, paint chipped along the edges from years of people sitting there, waiting, tapping their shoes on the ground, waiting some more.
Isabella sat down on one of them, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, like she was hugging herself, like she was bracing for something. Her shoulders hunched inward, and she didn’t look at him.
Alex hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside her. The metal was cold, even through the fabric of his jeans, and for a moment, all he could hear was the hum of the vending machines and the buzz of the light.
He waited, the silence stretching between them like a tightrope. He didn’t rush her. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low, careful. "Isabella... what happened?"
She didn’t look at him. Her lips trembled before she even spoke, like the words were trying to push their way out, fighting against the weight pressing down on her. She swallowed, her throat working visibly, and when she spoke, her voice cracked.
"My sister..."
She couldn’t finish. Her breath hitched, and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders starting to shake. It wasn’t the quiet, composed crying people did when they were trying to keep it together, trying to stay strong.