At the hospital corridor, the harsh white lights feel unbearable.
Athena sits against the wall opposite the operating room, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them as though she's trying to hold herself together. Her head is buried deep, shoulders trembling in silent, broken waves. Every second that passes feels like a punishment she deserves.
Footsteps approach.
"Athena."
She lifts her head at the sound of Miranda's voice—and immediately regrets it. Miranda. Piper. Shadrach. Madeline's family.
Tears flood her eyes instantly.
"I'm sorry," Athena says before any of them can speak. Her voice cracks, thin and helpless. "I'm really sorry. I caused it. It's all my fault."
Miranda doesn't hesitate. She walks over and squats beside Athena, her movements careful, controlled—like a mother holding herself together with sheer will.
"We don't blame you," Miranda says softly. "What happened… happened for a reason. It was out of your control."
Athena shakes her head weakly, the words refusing to settle. Out of my control? Madeline wouldn't be lying on an operating table if she hadn't been standing next to me. If she hadn't chosen me.
Piper steps closer. Her eyes are red, but her voice doesn't shake.
"Mother is right. It's not your fault."
Athena looks up at them, guilt twisting tighter in her chest.
"Why are you treating me like this?" she asks, her voice rising despite herself. "You're making me feel even more guilty."
Miranda exhales slowly. Her eyes glisten, but no tears fall.
"You don't have to feel guilty," she says.
"And even if you do… it won't change what has already happened."
The words are not cruel. They're honest. And honesty hurts more.
Shadrach, who has been silent all this while, finally speaks. His voice is low, steady—but it carries weight.
"If you truly want to feel guilty," he says, looking straight at Athena, "then do everything within your power to protect the life my daughter protected at the risk of her own."
The words hit Athena like a sentence handed down by fate.
Protect the life she protected.
Athena swallows hard, her throat burning. She nods slowly, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter her.
Miranda turns back to her gently.
"If I may ask… who do you think is behind this?"
Athena's fingers curl into her sleeves.
"I'm not sure."
Before Miranda can ask more, the operating room doors open.
Everyone straightens instantly.
A doctor steps out, removing his gloves, his expression professional but grave. His assistants linger behind him. All eyes lock onto his face.
"Are you the patient's family?" the doctor asks.
"Yes," Shadrach answers immediately.
"I'm Dr. Peter," the doctor says. "The bullet trajectory was extremely close to the heart. If she had arrived even a few minutes later, we would not be having this conversation."
Athena's breath catches.
"For now," Dr. Peter continues, "she is stable. However, she is currently in a coma. The duration—and the possibility of recovery—cannot be determined at this stage. It will depend on her neurological response in the coming days and weeks."
Athena's knees weaken.
"What… what can we do to make her wake up?" she asks shakily.
The doctor's tone remains calm, practiced.
"At this point, there is no medical intervention that can guarantee consciousness. Everything depends on her condition and her will to recover."
Athena presses her lips together, fighting the scream clawing at her chest.
"How long… how long will she be like this?" she whispers.
"There is no definitive timeline," Dr. Peter replies. "Comas can last weeks, months, or even years. In some cases, patients do not regain consciousness. We will monitor her closely."
Miranda steadies herself.
"Can we see her?"
"She is currently in the ICU," Dr. Peter says. "Family visitation will be permitted after twenty-four hours once her condition stabilizes."
One of his assistants leans in and whispers something to him.
"Excuse me," he adds, before walking away.
The corridor feels suddenly colder.
Athena turns to Miranda, her voice barely holding together.
"Can you… please call me when you're allowed to see her?"
Miranda frowns slightly.
"Where are you going?"
Athena stands slowly, as if gravity itself is heavier now.
"Don't worry about me."
If I stay here, she thinks, I'll collapse. And I don't deserve comfort.
She turns and walks away, her back rigid, her steps hollow—leaving behind a silhouette so lonely it almost aches to look at.
Miranda watches her go, her hand covering her mouth.
"I hope she will be fine."
Shadrach exhales deeply.
"Both of them will be."
Miranda nods faintly.
"I hope so. Let's speak to the doctor again."
"Okay."
They walk away together.
And somewhere down the corridor, Athena walks alone—
carrying love, guilt, and the unbearable weight of a life saved at the cost of another's peace.