A steady beeping. The smell of antiseptic. A heavyweight pressing down on his body.
Henry's eyelids fluttered, struggling to lift. His throat was dry, his body aching as though he'd been trampled by a stampede. The world was blurry at first, shapes shifting into focus. White walls. A dim ceiling light. A monitor beside his bed, displaying numbers he couldn't make sense of.
A hospital.
His first instinct was to move, to sit up, but his limbs refused to cooperate. His fingers twitched weakly, but even that sent sharp pain shooting through his body.
What… happened?
He tried to piece it together. He'd been on the streets. A truck—blinding lights—then nothing.
Had he survived?
A voice cut through his confusion. "You're awake?"
Henry turned his head slowly. A nurse stood beside the bed, her face a mix of surprise and relief. She wore a standard white uniform, her expression professional but slightly guarded.
"Where…?" His voice cracked, his throat dry as sandpaper.
"You're in St. "Veridia Medical Center," she answered, stepping closer. "You've been unconscious for two weeks."
His mind blanked.
Two weeks?
His heart pounded. That wasn't possible. A coma? Had he really lost that much time?
"Your body suffered severe trauma," the nurse continued. Honestly, it's a miracle you're alive. "We weren't sure when—or if—you'd wake up."
Henry swallowed, the dryness in his throat making it painful. "My… my family. Lily. Tom. Are they—?"
"They've been here," she said, a slight frown crossing her face. "Almost every day. Your sister, especially. She refused to leave most nights."
A sharp pang shot through Henry's chest—not from his injuries, but from the weight of her words. Lily and Tom must have been terrified. If he had been unconscious for two weeks, how had they even managed?
"And my mother?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.
The nurse hesitated. That was all he needed.
She hadn't come.
Not even once.
Henry felt something inside him twist, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. He should have expected it. Yet, knowing it for certain still stung.
"Your siblings should be here soon," the nurse said, clearly trying to shift the subject. "They come by every day around this time."
Henry barely nodded, his mind still trying to process everything. Two weeks. That was time he could never get back. What had happened while he was gone? How had Lily and Tom managed without him?
And why did he feel like something was… off?
It wasn't long before the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Then—
"Henry!"
Lily burst into the room first, nearly knocking over a chair in her rush to reach him. Her dark hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, her uniform slightly wrinkled. The exhaustion on her face was impossible to miss, but her eyes were bright with relief.
Tom followed close behind, his usual energetic demeanor replaced with a quiet kind of tension. He looked older somehow, as if the past two weeks had forced him to grow up.
"You're awake!" Lily grabbed his hand tightly, as if afraid he'd disappear again. "God, you have no idea how—how scared we were!"
Henry tried to smile, but his muscles ached too much. "You think you were scared?" he croaked. "I just woke up in a hospital with no idea what was going on."
Lily let out a sound between a laugh and a sniffle, blinking rapidly. "Idiot," she muttered, squeezing his hand.
Tom hovered near the bed, his usual grin absent. He fidgeted, his fingers tightening around the hem of his jacket. "We thought… we thought you weren't going to wake up," he admitted, his voice small. "It's been two weeks, Henry."
"I know," Henry said quietly. He wished he could sit up, but even lifting his head felt exhausting. "I just found out."
"You scared the hell out of us," Lily scolded, though her voice wavered. We had no idea what to do. The doctors said they"weren't sure if you'd ever wake up.
Henry glanced at her tired face. "You stayed here, didn't you?"
Lily crossed her arms, looking away. "Of course I did."
Tom added, "She barely even went home. She—"
"Shut up, Tom," Lily interrupted, glaring at him.
Henry's chest ached—not from his injuries, but from the guilt. He had always been the one taking care of them. Yet, while he was unconscious, it was Lily who had to step up.
"How… how did you manage?" he asked.
Lily hesitated. "We scraped by," she said vaguely.
Henry frowned. "Lily—"
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "I had to take extra shifts at the diner. Tom helped when he could. We're behind on rent. Barely had enough for food. And the hospital bills—"
Her voice broke off, and she clenched her fists.
Tom sat on the edge of the bed, looking down. "It sucked," he mumbled. "We didn't know if you'd wake up, and…" He trailed off.
Henry's fingers tightened around the blanket. This was his fault. If he hadn't been so careless…
Lily suddenly smacked his arm—gently, but enough to make him flinch.
"Don't you dare start blaming yourself," she said sharply. You almost died. That's not on you.
Henry swallowed hard. "I should have—"
"No," she cut him off. "You're awake." That's what matters."
Tom nodded, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You scared us, but… you're here now."
Henry exhaled slowly. They were right. Dwelling on what-ifs wouldn't change anything.
"Okay," he said, his voice quieter. "I'm here."
The room settled into a heavy silence. Lily and Tom were here. They were safe.
But…
"What about Mom?" Tom asked suddenly.
Lily's face darkened. "Don't."
Henry already knew. His mother hadn't come. Not once.
Tom shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe she—"
"She didn't come, Tom," Lily snapped, her voice brittle.
Tom bit his lip. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I know."
Henry exhaled through his nose. It wasn't like this was new. Their mother had stopped caring a long time ago.
But still.
Not even one visit?
His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to let it go. There were more important things to focus on.
"How long do I have to stay here?" he asked.
Lily looked uncertain. "The doctor said you should be monitored for a bit longer. But with the hospital bills…"
Henry nodded grimly. Money. It always came down to money.
"I'll get out of here soon," he promised. "And then… we'll figure things out."
"You just woke up, Henry," Lily argued. "You're not exactly in fighting shape."
"Still," he said firmly. "I'm not staying here longer than I have to."
Lily didn't look happy, but she didn't argue further.
Tom, however, finally cracked a grin. "At least you still sound like yourself," he said. "I was worried you'd wake up and start acting all weird."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "Weird how?"
"I dunno," Tom shrugged. "Like… get all emotional and dramatic."
Lily snorted. "Oh, please. Henry's always dramatic."
Henry rolled his eyes. "Great. Two weeks in a coma and I wake up to insults."
Lily smirked. "You missed us, admit it."
Henry sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe a little."
Lily and Tom exchanged knowing smiles, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Henry let himself relax.
That night, long after his siblings left, Henry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Something didn't feel right.
Why had he been unconscious for two weeks?
Why had he survived at all?