A steady beeping echoed in the background, piercing through the fog clouding Mary's mind. Her eyelids felt like lead, but slowly, she forced them open. The white ceiling above her came into focus, stark and unfamiliar. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled her nostrils as her sluggish thoughts began to piece together where she was.
The hospital.
Mary's chest tightened. Memories of the pills, the crushing weight of despair, and Ryan's betrayal flooded her mind. She blinked rapidly, her throat dry and aching, as a wave of shame coursed through her.
"Mary?"
The voice was soft, almost hesitant. She turned her head to see her mother, Emily, sitting by the bed, her eyes red and swollen. Her father, David, stood behind her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
"You're awake," Emily whispered, her voice trembling. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she reached out to grasp Mary's hand.
Mary stared at her parents, their expressions a mixture of relief and sorrow. The lump in her throat grew, and she averted her gaze, unable to meet their eyes.
"Thank God," David muttered, his usually gruff voice breaking. "We thought… we almost lost you."
Mary wanted to respond, to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt their love, their relief, yet all she could focus on was the guilt that churned in her stomach.
The door opened, and Uncle John entered, carrying a small bouquet of daisies. He froze when he saw her awake, a soft smile spreading across his face. "There's our fighter," he said gently, setting the flowers on the bedside table.
Mary's lips quivered, but she remained silent. Uncle John pulled up a chair beside her and took her free hand in his. "It's okay, Mary," he said, his voice steady and calm. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just know we're here for you."
A few minutes later, Sophie appeared in the doorway. Her face lit up with relief, but her steps were hesitant as if she wasn't sure she was welcome. "Mary…" Sophie whispered, her voice breaking.
The sight of Sophie brought fresh tears to Mary's eyes. "I'm sorry," she croaked, her voice hoarse and barely audible.
"No," Sophie said firmly, crossing the room to sit beside her. "Don't you dare apologize. I'm the one who's sorry. I should have been there for you, I—" Her voice broke as she grabbed Mary's hand.
Mary looked at Sophie, her best friend's tear-streaked face full of love and pain. For the first time, a small spark of warmth flickered in her chest.
As the day wore on, Mary received more visits from family and close friends, each offering their support and love. But the guilt lingered, a heavy shadow she couldn't shake. That evening, as the hospital quieted, Mary stared out of the window, the city lights twinkling in the distance.
The weight of her pain was still there, but so was something else—a tiny voice that whispered she wasn't alone, that maybe, just maybe, she could find a way forward.
"It's not over yet," Mary whispered into the stillness, her fingers brushing against the bandages on her wrist. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she believed it.