Cullen - I Did This
CULLEN
Waiting for the doctors to come out was painful.
I couldn’t sit still. I kept standing up, pacing, and sitting down again, only to shoot right back to my feet.
Every second felt like an hour, every minute like a lifetime.
And then finally after what felt like forever, my father and Cyrus arrived at the hospital.
“Is there any word? What did they say?” my dad asked as soon as he saw me.
I didn’t respond.
I had no time for them.
I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.
“They’re still inside,” my mother answered instead, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “There’s still no word yet.”
“What could be taking so long?” my father snapped, his voice loud and raw.
“Calm down,” my mother said gently, placing her hand on his. “I’m sure it’s going to be okay.”
I had no idea why she was still trying to calm him down. He sat beside her, sighing, rubbing his face.
Cyrus stood nearby, silent, watchful.
Then my mother turned to him.
“Where’s Bella?” he asked.
“She’s at home with Caesar,” Cyrus replied.
My mother nodded, relieved at least something was stable.
But me? My mind wouldn’t stop racing.
What if the doctor walks out right now and says she didn’t make it? What if Sarah’s gone?
What would that mean? What would I do?
I shook my head hard as if I could physically beat the thoughts out of my mind.
Stop thinking like that.
I couldn’t go there. I wouldn’t go there.
I had to hold on to the hope, the need that she was going to pull through. That she’s alive. That she’s going to be okay.
She has to be.
The door finally opened.
I froze. My body stiffened like it was bracing for an earthquake. And when the doctor walked out, white coat stained, eyes tired, every breath I had in me just stopped.
We all stood up at once. He looked at us, scanning the room until his eyes landed on me.
“Are you family?”
“She’s my wife,” I said quickly. My voice cracked. I didn’t care.
The doctor nodded. “I’m Dr. Harrow. We’ve done everything we can for now.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “She’s stable… but she’s unresponsive.”
“What does that mean?” my father asked sharply.
“She’s alive,” the doctor said. “But she hasn’t regained consciousness. Her breathing is steady with assistance. Her heart rate is consistent. But... she hasn’t woken up.”
“So… what are you saying?” I asked, the words barely leaving my throat.
“I’m saying… the patient is in a coma.”
Everything in the room tilted. I had to steady myself on the wall. The silence that followed felt like a bomb had just gone off.
The doctor continued, his voice low. “Her body temperature had dropped significantly when she was found. It looks like she was underwater for a while. We don’t know exactly how long her brain was deprived of oxygen. That’s going to affect her recovery.”
I couldn’t speak.
“She didn’t ingest much water, which is good. But the lack of oxygen and the shock to her system... it’s hard to say how her brain has been impacted. We won’t know until she wakes up.”
“If she wakes up,” Cyrus muttered under his breath.
I turned and glared at him. My mother placed her hand gently on my arm, grounding me.
The doctor didn’t flinch. “That’s the truth. Sometimes patients wake up after days. Sometimes weeks. Sometimes... they don’t.”
“Is there anything else you can do?” I asked, desperate for something more. A thread. A scrap of hope.
“We’re monitoring her closely. She’s in the ICU. She’s on oxygen. We’ll manage her vitals, keep her stable, and hope her brain heals with time. But right now… there’s no way to predict anything. We just wait.”
Wait. That’s all we could do?
I looked at him, wanting to scream, to beg, to ask if there was a specialist he could call, some magical test they could do. But his face told me everything.
He’d done what he could.
“She’ll be moved to a private room once we’re sure she’s stable. You’ll be able to see her then.”
With that, he turned and disappeared back through the doors.
The silence afterwards felt even louder. I sank into a chair. My mother sat beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulder. I didn’t cry this time. I couldn’t.
I just stared ahead.
She’s alive, yes... But she’s not here.
And I don’t know if she ever will be again.
As the doctor left, we were all left in silence. Nobody said anything. Everybody seemed to be in their own head, lost in their own thoughts, stuck in their own time. The moment just froze around us. No one dared to break it.
That was until a nurse came out. She said Sarah was in a private room now, and that we could see her, but only one at a time.
My mother turned to me. “Cullen, you should go.”
So I did. Frozenly. Wordlessly. I followed the nurse down the hallway. My feet moved, but I wasn’t in them.
As I walked, I heard my father say behind me, “I have to make the call.”
I didn’t know what call. I didn’t know what he meant. And honestly, I didn’t care.
The nurse stopped in front of a door. She opened it gently, then gestured for me to go in. I walked past her, through the threshold, and then I saw her.
Sarah.
She was lying there on the bed if you could call it that. Tubes were hooked into her nose and her arms. Machines were lined up beside her, blinking softly, beeping steadily, like a quiet scream. And needles. There were needles in her arms.
And I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it.
I cried.
She just looked so pale. So small. So weak. So powerless. The kind of fragile that made you afraid to blink too hard in case the moment shattered.
And it was like I was being forced to see her, not just see her lying there, but see her as she really was. The weight she carried. The girl I brought into all of this.
And in that same breath, it felt like I was being forced to see myself too. To see the part I played in her life. In her pain.
I realized at that moment… This was all my fault.
I did this.
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