The next morning, her pain had dulled into a manageable throb. She asked a different nurse, “Can I visit Aiden today? Just for a minute?” The nurse gave a sympathetic smile. “I think he’s already been discharged. Let me check…”
She tapped at her screen, then paused. “Yeah—he left yesterday afternoon. Said he was feeling strong enough to recover at home.” Maya stared at her. “But… he didn’t say goodbye.” The nurse gently placed her discharge papers on the tray. “Maybe he just needed space to rest. It happens.”
But the ache under Maya’s ribs wasn’t just surgical. It was spreading—cold, slow, and creeping into something she didn’t yet have words for. The ride home felt longer than usual. Her body ached. Her head buzzed. Her phone stayed quiet the entire trip.
That night, she finally texted: Let me know when you’re up for a call. No response. The next day, she tried again: Are you okay? Still nothing. No reply. His name sat at the top of her inbox like a bruise that wouldn’t fade.