The soft hum of the hospital machines had become a strange kind of comfort.
Jenn sat beside Jeff's bed, her fingers gently tracing the rim of a cup as she watched him breathe — steady, peaceful.
He had woken up three days ago.
And though relief washed through her like warm rain, it came with a quiet ache she couldn't explain.
Jeff had smiled when he first saw her — weakly, but real. It was the kind of smile that carried both pain and longing, the kind that said I missed you without needing words.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" she had teased that morning, pulling the blanket higher over him.
Jeff smiled faintly. "I could ask you the same thing. You've been here every day."
Jenn looked away, pretending to fix the IV line. "Someone had to make sure you don't do anything stupid again."
"Like getting hit by a car?"
She shot him a look, and for the first time in days, they both laughed — quietly, softly, as though they were afraid the moment might break if it got too loud.
But behind her smile, Jenn could still feel the pull — the fear of losing him again. And behind his laugh, Jeff hid the guilt of everything that had led them here.
When he was finally discharged, Jenn helped him pack his things. She refused his every attempt to lift a bag, scolding him like a nurse would.
He didn't fight it. He just watched her — memorizing the curve of her frown, the way she adjusted her hair, the tired kindness in her eyes.
When they got outside, the world looked brighter than before.
Jeff closed his eyes and inhaled. Freedom.
But it didn't last long.
His parents were waiting by the car.
His mother's eyes were swollen from crying. His father, stiff and unreadable as always, nodded briefly when Jeff approached.
"Son," his mother whispered, reaching out. "We came as soon as we heard."
Jeff's jaw tightened. "That was few days ago."
"Jeff—"
He stepped back. "It's fine. You don't have to explain."
Jenn stood quietly by, unsure what to do. She could feel the tension — thick, sharp. The kind that didn't need shouting to be heard.
His mother looked at Jenn, her eyes softening. "Have we met before?, you look familiar ."
Jenn nodded politely. "No, ma'am."
"Carlos told me everything,Thank you," she said sincerely. "For being there for him."
Jenn smiled faintly. "He'd do the same."
But Jeff's gaze never left the ground. "Can we just go home?"
The ride was silent.
When they reached the house, Jeff excused himself almost immediately and went straight to his room.
Jenn followed a few steps behind, hesitating at his door.
He sat by the window, staring out — his expression unreadable.
"They care about you, Jeff," she said quietly.
He laughed bitterly. "They care when I almost die, Jenn. Not when I needed them alive."
Jenn didn't argue. She just sat beside him. "Maybe this is their way of trying."
Jeff turned to look at her — tired, eyes glassy but calm. "You really believe people can always try again?"
Jenn's voice was soft. "If they mean it."
Silence lingered, but it wasn't cold anymore. He reached for her hand — slowly, almost shyly. She didn't pull away.
Maybe it wasn't love yet. Maybe it was something fragile, rebuilding itself piece by piece.
"Now you have to rest"
Jenn guided him to the bed,adjusting the pillow behind his back. He gave a faint smile.
"You don't have to fuss over me like this",he murmured.
"I will stop when you stop pretending like you're fine", she replied softly.
He chuckled under his breath but there was sadness in his eyes.
"I didn't think I'd make it out of that bed alive "
Jenn lowered her gaze, "And now you did,that's what that matters now".
Silence lingered between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Jenn's finger brushed over his and she reached for the blanket. Jeff didn't move away.
"Thank you….for staying", he said quietly.
Jenn looked up, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You'd do the same for me".
Jeff nodded,his voice barely above a whisper
"Yeah, always".
For the first time in a long time, it felt warm again not because everything was fine but because they both still cared enough to try.
The sun had begun to fade.
Alden sat in his car, parked near the quiet corner of his neighborhood — the same place he'd parked many nights before when his thoughts refused to rest.
He hadn't seen Jenn since that morning. He didn't need to.
He could already picture her — sitting beside Jeff, probably holding his hand, her eyes filled with the same gentleness that once belonged to him, even if only for a moment.
He rested his head against the steering wheel, exhaling slowly.
"She chose him," he murmured, the words stinging more than he wanted to admit.
He had promised himself not to fall too deep.
But somewhere between her smile, her quiet strength, and the way she'd said his name, he had.
Completely.
Now, all he could do was sit here, watching the night settle in, wishing he didn't care this much.
His phone buzzed against the dashboard.
He blinked, then looked down. A new message.
Tessie: Can we talk?
Alden stared at the screen for a long moment, his reflection faintly visible on the glass.
Of all times, now?
He almost laughed — bitterly. "What do you want to talk about, Tessie? How everything feels like it's slipping out of my hands?"
He didn't reply. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Jenn's voice echoed faintly in his head — her laugh, her small thank yous, her quiet sighs when she was sad.
And then Jeff's name, always there, always in the way.
He slammed his hand lightly against the steering wheel, frustration tightening his chest.
"You always win, don't you, Jeff?" he muttered under his breath. "Even when you almost lose everything… she still comes back to you."
Silence filled the car. The air felt heavier, his heart even more so.
After a while, he started the engine but didn't drive off immediately.
Instead, he whispered to the empty air — as if Jenn could somehow hear him.
"Just don't let him break you again, Jenn. Please."
Then he drove off into the night, the faint sound of his tires disappearing into the hum of the city — leaving behind only the ache of a man who loved quietly, but too deeply.
Outside, the wind picked up, carrying with it the quiet ache of three hearts — connected by love, divided by timing.