The words were automatic, defensive, but they lacked conviction. Everyone needs help sometimes, Victoria. Even people who’ve spent their whole lives proving they don’t. She closed her eyes and Ethan saw a tear slide down her cheek, mixing with the rain. I’ve built everything by myself. Made myself successful. Made myself strong.

Made myself someone who doesn’t need anyone. If I fall apart now, needing medical care isn’t falling apart. It’s being human. Ethan shifted slightly, wincing as his knee protested. Look, I’m going to be honest with you. In about 5 minutes, I’m going to call an ambulance, whether you agree or not, because I’m not going to sit here and watch you die from stubbornness and trauma.

But I’d rather you make this choice yourself. I’d rather you be the one who decides you’re worth saving. easy for you to say? Nothing about this is easy. His voice roughened. Do you think it’s easy for me to push someone toward a hospital when my wife’s death taught me that hospitals are where people go to die? Do you think I don’t feel that same terror every time I see those emergency room doors? But I learned something else that night, Victoria. I learned that fear is a liar.

It doesn’t keep us safe. It just keeps us from living. Victoria opened her eyes again, studying his face with an intensity that felt like being seen for the first time in years. You really were a medic. Army 68 Balu. Three tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq. Saw things I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Did things I’m proud of and things that still wake me up at night. But the training was real and the experience was real. And right now, I’m telling you, as someone who knows what they’re talking about, you’re in serious danger. And if I say no, if I refuse to go, Ethan was quiet for a moment. Then I’ll sit here with you until you pass out from the pain, at which point I’ll call the ambulance anyway, and you’ll wake up in the very hospital you’re trying to avoid.

Except you’ll be in worse shape, and I’ll have wasted precious time that could make the difference between a routine surgery and something much more serious. Is that really what you want? I want to not be terrified. The confession came small, almost childlike. I want to be brave like everyone thinks I am.

Victoria looked at me. Ethan waited until her eyes met his. Being brave doesn’t mean not being scared. It means being scared and doing the thing anyway. It means acknowledging the fear and choosing to move forward despite it. And right now, right now, being brave means letting me help you. The rain continued its assault, but something had shifted between them.

Some understanding that transcended the circumstances. Two people, both haunted by loss, both shaped by trauma, finding connection in the most unlikely of moments. If I do this, Victoria said slowly, if I let you take me to the hospital, will you stay? Every second, Ethan promised without hesitation. I won’t leave you alone. Not for a moment.

even though I’m a complete stranger. Even though he managed a slight smile. Besides, my daughter’s already asleep and my babysitter’s probably watching her Korean dramas by now. I’ve got time. Despite everything, Victoria almost laughed. It came out as more of a pained exhale, but the attempt was there. You have a daughter, Maya. She’s eight.

Smartest kid you’ll ever meet, though I might be biased. looks just like her mother, which kills me and saves me in equal measure every single day. And you’re raising her alone? Yeah, some days better than others, but we manage. She’s the reason I get up in the morning, the reason I keep the garage running, the reason I’m still here at all.” Ethan’s voice softened.

She’s also the reason I can’t let you die in this parking lot. Because I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and I know what it does to a kid, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone’s child. I don’t have children, Victoria said quietly. Never had time. Built a company instead like that was some sort of equivalent. It’s not too late.

For children, for any of it, for changing course, for choosing differently, for deciding that maybe success isn’t just about what you build, but who you become in the building of it. Ethan shifted his weight, his clothes now completely soaked through. But none of that matters if you don’t survive tonight.

Victoria was quiet, and Ethan could see the war playing out behind her eyes. Fear versus logic, trauma versus survival instinct. He understood that battle intimately. He fought it himself every single day. Finally, she spoke. If we do this, and I’m not saying we are, but if we don’t call an ambulance, Victoria, let me finish.

Ambulances mean EMTs, mean reports, mean questions. I know people at county general, people who’d recognize my name, people who’d call board members, people who’d turn this into something public and complicated. And she broke off, breathing hard. If we’re doing this, we do it quietly. You drive me. We go straight to the emergency entrance, in and out before anyone realizes what’s happening.

It was a terrible idea medically speaking. Ethan knew that. But he also knew that getting her to agree to go at all was the priority. And if this was what it took, “My truck’s right over there,” he said, gesturing toward the battered F-150. “But Victoria, we need to go now. Not in 5 minutes. Not after you think about it more. Now.

” She nodded, the movement small, but definite. “Okay, help me up.” Ethan stood first, his muscles protesting the sustained crouch, then extended both hands down to her. Victoria gripped them, her hands were ice cold despite the warm rain, and he pulled her carefully to her feet. She swayed immediately, a soft gasp of pain escaping her lips, and Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

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