Veronica chose that moment to enter the room. “How’s she doing?”
“Better!” I insist. “Mike, please listen to me. I think we can wean her off the ventilator. I think she’s a good candidate for extubation.”
Mike stares at me in disbelief. “Milla, I have so much more knowledge and experience than you do. I know you want to be hopeful, I know that you’ve developed some kind of attachment to the patient—but it’s just not your call to make.”
“Please,” I say desperately, pointing. “Just look at her. Listen to her. Evie—can you try to talk again? Tell him. Say something if you think you’re strong enough to get off this fucking machine!”
Yvette groans again, and it’s not just a random sound. It’s clearly an intelligent response, and she’s trying to form words. She’s fighting for her life. Fighting for her freedom. Fighting for her man.
“Okay, I heard that too,” Veronica says, stepping forward. “Milla’s not crazy, Mike. I must admit, I thought she was a little off her rocker, but we both clearly heard that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mike says quietly, studying his patient. “She’s still not scoring high enough on the coma scale. Her eyes aren’t opening. Her hands aren’t moving.”
“Evie,” I say softly, moving to her side and squeezing her arm. “Can you open your eyes? Can you move your hands?”
We all stare at her left hand, which is nearest to us. Her fingers barely, just barely twitch.
“It’s not enough,” Mike says. “You girls both know that. Some people just never come off the respirators. We have to stop hoping, and give up on her. Just leave her there.”
“Wait,” I say, staring hard at her hand. There’s a slender tan line on her ring finger, from years of wearing a wedding band… given to her by the same man who put a ring on my finger. That thought makes me feel a bit sick. Where is her ring now? Why did she stop wearing it? I touch her arm. “Evie, please move your hand, if you can. Use all your strength to move your hand—I know you’re strong. Stronger than anyone thinks. You can do this.”
Her hand trembles slightly. All the fingers have a small spasm.
I say softly, “Think about Gabriel.” Because it’s probably what I would want to hear to fight my way out of a coma. I know that she’s capable. I just need to make Mike see this. And if he doesn’t, I’ll go to the head of the department—or the ethics committee. Someone will have to believe me and understand. With more conviction, I nearly shout at her, “Do it for Gabriel! Don’t you want to see your husband again?”
Her hand suddenly moves. It really moves, and all her fingers flex. She clenches them into a fist.
“Oh my god,” Mike says with shock. “You’re right. She’s going to make it. We’ll have to wean her off, cautiously.”
“Holy crap, Milla,” Veronica whispers.
I lift my chin to make eye contact with my friend, and she looks almost horrified. Like she knows better than I do, just how difficult things are about to get for me.
I swallow.
What the hell have I done?
Chapter 12
It took Gabriel fifteen days to say that he loved me. Six days for me to read every book he’s written. It took us only eight days to start taking our clothes off on video call together. It took about three weeks before we started seriously talking about having children together. It was a month before he proposed to me.
It took Yvette forty-seven days to come off the ventilator, and start breathing on her own again.
To say that I’m freaking out would be an understatement. I told Gabriel that things were looking good, but I didn’t tell him how good. Yvette was groggy for a few days and unable to really speak or eat on her own, so I wasn’t sure whether she was actually going to make a complete recovery. I actually used her phone to text Sexy Babe a few more times, desperately hoping he would show up to take care of her.
But there was no response.
And today… she’s finally talking.
“Oh, god,” Evie says hoarsely. “It feels so good to not have a tube shoved down my throat.”
“Were you aware of it the whole time? Was it painful?” I ask her.
“No, not really,” she groans. “I mean, the last few days have been awful, but otherwise… I was mostly knocked out.”
“Do you remember any of it?”
“Not much,” she responds. Then she hesitates. “I just kept having these horrible nightmares.”
My heart skips a beat. “What did you dream?”
“Oh… I don’t really want to talk about it. But it was so realistic.” She shudders and makes a face of disgust. “So dreadful.”
“About Gabriel?” I ask, feeling guilt wash over me.
“No. It was… just a really, really awful dream. Terrifying. Let’s just change the subject, please.” She has a small coughing fit, but then smiles. “I love my toenail polish. Thank you so much for that.”
“Of course,” I say softly. “I just wanted you to feel pretty when you woke up.”
“I do… I just wish I could walk! I guess those toes will be rather useless for a while.”
“You’re young and strong, you’ll probably get back your mobility quickly,” I assure her. Although I have no idea of whether she’ll ever walk again, and how long it will take.
“That’s a pretty ring, Milla,” she says suddenly. “Were you wearing one before?”
Shit. I forgot to take the damn ring off today. “No, it’s… it’s new,” I tell her weakly. “I just got engaged.”
“Oh! Congratulations,” she says. She stares at the ring for a moment. “That’s so funny—my mother-in-law used to wear something quite similar.”
Fuck.
“I always liked that style of ring,” she says with a
