Chapter 6
600words
My last conscious thought wasn't of Nathan, or the divorce, or even Lily.
It was of my father's voice from years ago, teaching me to drive: "Always check your car before a long trip, Livvy. You never know when something might fail."
Some failures aren't accidents.
Olivia's POV
Pain was my first conscious sensation—a throbbing ache in my forehead and a sharp discomfort across my chest. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of monitors told me I was in a hospital before I even opened my eyes.
When I did, the harsh fluorescent lights made me wince. As my vision cleared, I became aware of a figure sitting beside my bed—a familiar silhouette that made my heart constrict painfully.
Nathan.
He was slumped in the uncomfortable hospital chair, his normally impeccable appearance disheveled. His suit was wrinkled, his hair mussed as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly—a nervous habit I knew well from our years together. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and stubble covered his usually clean-shaven jaw.
I must have made some sound, because his head snapped up, gray eyes widening when they met mine.
"Olivia," he breathed, leaning forward. "You're awake."
I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. Nathan immediately reached for the water cup on the bedside table, holding the straw to my lips with a gentleness that brought unwelcome memories flooding back—of him caring for me during a bout of flu three years ago, of his hand holding mine through a root canal, of a thousand small kindnesses that had once been the foundation of our marriage.
After a few sips, I found my voice. "What are you doing here?"
The words came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't help it. Seeing him here, acting like the concerned husband, when just yesterday we'd signed divorce papers—it was too much.
"They called me," he said simply. "I'm still your emergency contact."
Of course. A bureaucratic oversight, nothing more. I'd meant to change that, along with my will and insurance beneficiary. Just another item on the post-divorce checklist I hadn't gotten to yet.
"What happened?" I asked, trying to piece together my fragmented memories. The parking garage. The rain. The brakes failing.
"Your car crashed in the hospital garage," Nathan explained, his voice tight. "The doctors said you have a concussion, bruised ribs, and some lacerations. You're lucky it wasn't worse."
Lucky. The word hung between us, laden with irony. I hadn't felt lucky in a very long time.
"The brakes failed," I said, memories returning more clearly now. "They shouldn't have. The car just had a service last month."
Something flickered in Nathan's eyes—concern, or perhaps something deeper. "Are you sure?"
"I'm not imagining things, if that's what you're asking," I snapped, defensive. Then, seeing his expression, I softened slightly. "The pedal went straight to the floor. No resistance."
He nodded, his jaw tightening. "I'll have someone look into it."
The familiar way he took charge both irritated and comforted me. For seven years, Nathan had been my rock, the person who fixed problems, who made things happen. Now he was just... what? My ex-husband? A stranger with shared memories?
A doctor entered—a woman in her forties with kind eyes and a no-nonsense manner. "Dr. Carter, I'm Dr. Bennett. Glad to see you're awake. How's the pain on a scale of one to ten?"
