Chapter 11 - MARCO’S RECKONING AT THE BEDSIDE
The heavy wooden door of my private recovery room clicked open, and Marco stepped inside, looking hollow-eyed, unshaven, and broken. He held a plastic bag containing a change of clothes and a thermos of black coffee, stopping dead at the threshold when he saw the tears streaming down my face. He walked slowly to the side of the bed, dropping the bag onto the armchair, and sank to his knees on the cold tile floor, resting his forehead against the edge of my mattress.
“Isabel... I am so sorry,” he choked out, his shoulders shaking with ragged sobs. “I saw the camera footage. After you went into surgery, I went back and watched the living room feed from that night. I watched you crawl across the floor while I sat there ignoring you. I am a monster.” I looked down at him, feeling neither rage nor forgiveness, only an immense, hollow numbness that mirrored my legs. “You didn't want to believe me, Marco,” I said quietly, my voice devoid of inflection. “Because believing me meant you would have to inconvenience yourself. It meant you would have to take care of someone besides yourself.” He wept openly, begging for a second chance, but the words felt weightless, dissolving into the quiet hum of the hospital monitors.
