The Pain and Tears
I hesitated outside the door.
She was awake now.
Talking.
Healing.
But I couldn’t shake the guilt—the overwhelming ache in my chest every time I saw her like this.
I pushed the door open.
Claire turned her head, her eyes landing on me.
For a moment, we just stared at each other.
Then—
She smirked. “Took you long enough.”
I let out a breathy laugh, stepping closer. “You’re one to talk. You took weeks.”
She rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”
I smiled, sitting on the chair beside her bed. “How are you feeling?”
Claire’s expression softened. “Better. Still sore. But I’m alive.”
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
Silence settled between us, heavy, unspoken things lingering in the air.
Then Claire exhaled. “Remi.”
I looked at her.
Her fingers curled weakly around mine. “Speak now.”
My throat tightened. “What?”
Her grip was weak, but her eyes were sharp. “Tell me everything. No holding back.”
I hesitated.
Claire saw right through me.
She always did.
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. “It’s…complicated.”
She gave me a look. “I almost died, Remi. You think I can’t handle complicated?”
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
“Always have been,” she said, squeezing my hand lightly. “Now spill.”
I did.
Not everything—but enough.
About the research. The facility. The twins.
About him.
Rowan.
Claire listened, her gaze never leaving mine.
When I was done, she exhaled. “Damn.”
I let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”
She studied me for a moment. “And what do you want?”
I blinked. “What?”
“What do you want, Remi?” Claire’s voice was gentle but firm. “Forget Rowan. Forget the past. Forget everything. What do you want?”
I opened my mouth.
No words came out.
Because I didn’t know.
Claire sighed, shaking her head. “You’re overthinking it.”
I rubbed my temples. “I don’t have a choice.”
Claire looked at me. “Yes, you do.”
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head.
Before she could say anything else, I pushed to my feet. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back.”
She gave me a knowing look but didn’t argue.
I stepped out, closing the door behind me.
—
The bathroom was quiet.
I splashed cold water on my face, gripping the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection.
What do you want, Remi?
I didn’t know.
I dried my hands, exhaling sharply.
Then I stepped out—
And froze.
Down the hall, alarms blared.
A nurse ran past me.
Shouting.
I turned the corner—
And everything dropped.
Claire’s room.
Doctors rushed inside, pushing past each other.
I saw her gasping, struggling—
Monitors beeping frantically.
I ran.
“Claire!”
But before I could step inside—
A nurse grabbed my arm, holding me back.
“Dr. Laurent, you need to wait outside!”
I couldn’t breathe.
I tried to shove past her.
“I— I need to—”
“Let them work,” the nurse said firmly.
I stood there, paralyzed, watching—
As Claire fought for her life.
Again.
And I couldn’t do anything.
Her body convulsed, her fingers twitching as if she was trying to reach for something—someone.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run inside, grab her hand, tell her she wasn’t allowed to leave me again.
But I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Could only watch.
The doctors surrounded her, voices overlapping.
“BP dropping—”
“She’s losing consciousness—”
“Prepare another dose—”
Claire’s lips parted. Her eyes fluttered open—barely.
And then—
Her gaze landed on me.
I gasped.
Because for a moment, I saw acceptance in them.
Like she already knew.
Like she had already let go.
“No,” I whispered.
Her lips moved.
I couldn’t hear her.
But I knew what she was saying.
Remi.
My vision blurred.
And then—
She smiled.
A soft, weak, painful smile.
The kind that said everything.
I shook my head furiously, tears spilling down my cheeks.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t you dare.”
Her lips parted again.
This time, I heard her.
“…It’s okay.”
No.
No, it wasn’t.
It would never be okay.
The beeping grew erratic.
Then—
The monitor flatlined.
I collapsed.
The flatline rang in my ears.
Loud.
Unforgiving.
A sound that shattered through my chest, through my ribs, through my very soul.
“No—NO!”
I lunged forward, but hands grabbed me.
Strong. Firm. Holding me back.
I fought.
I kicked. Clawed. Screamed.
I didn’t care who was stopping me.
I just needed to get to her.
“CLAIRE!”
Her name tore from my throat, raw and desperate.
She couldn’t be gone.
Not her.
Not my Claire.
Not after everything.
“Let me go! I can—I can fix this!” My voice broke, my body shaking as I thrashed against the arms holding me.
The doctors—they weren’t doing enough.
They weren’t fighting hard enough.
I had to do something.
I had to—
But then I saw her.
Still.
Lifeless.
Face peaceful, almost as if she had just fallen asleep.
The war inside me—
The fight—
Everything stopped.
Something inside me snapped, breaking so deep I knew it would never, ever heal.
The hands holding me loosened.
And I fell to my knees.
My palms hit the cold hospital floor.
My breaths came in choked sobs, my chest heaving, my body shaking.
Tears fell freely.
Hot. Endless.
I reached for her—
Even though I knew.
I already knew.
But I still reached.
My fingers barely brushed against the fabric of her hospital gown.
A cold hand covered mine.
A nurse.
Her voice was gentle. “She’s gone, Dr. Laurent.”
I let out a broken laugh.
A hollow, shattered sound.
Gone.
Gone.
Just like that.
And I had to live in a world where Claire no longer existed.
I dropped my head, shoulders trembling.
I sobbed.
The world blurred.
The sounds around me—the murmurs of the doctors, the steady beeping of machines in the other rooms, the quiet shuffling of feet—all faded.
All I could hear was the echo of that sound.
The flatline.
Final. Absolute.
Claire was gone.
I stayed there, kneeling on the cold floor, unmoving.
Tears dripped onto my hands, my body trembling so hard I thought I might shatter.
“Remi…”
A voice—soft, hesitant.
Familiar.
I barely registered the weight of a hand on my shoulder.
Jo.
I couldn’t look at her.
Couldn’t lift my head.
Couldn’t do anything.
She crouched beside me, her
fingers squeezing lightly. “Come on, let’s get you up.”
I shook my head.
I couldn’t.
Not yet.
Not when Claire was still lying there, looking so peaceful—like she was just resting.
Like she’d wake up at any moment and tell me to stop being so dramatic.
I waited for it.
For her to roll her eyes. To tell me to breathe.
But she didn’t move.
She never would again.
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