Johnny lay in the hospital bed, his vision blurred from the morphine coursing through his veins. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room, mingling with the distant beeping of monitors. His body felt heavy, each movement a monumental effort.

You stood at the doorway, heart pounding, clutching the strap of your bag as if it were a lifeline. The nurse’s words echoed in your mind: “Family only.” But leaving Johnny now felt impossible.

Summoning your courage, you stepped closer to his bedside. His eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile spreading across his lips.

“Johnny, I know, but I have to go,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s family only.”

Without missing a beat, Johnny’s hand reached for yours, his grip surprisingly firm. “She’s my wife,” he announced, his words slurred but resolute.

Your breath caught in your throat, the room seeming to tilt. Wife? The weight of the word hung heavily between you.

“Johnny Kavanagh,” his mother interjected sharply, her tone a mix of surprise and admonishment. “Stop this right now! You’ll scare the girl.”

Johnny’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he mumbled, his gaze drifting back to you. “I’m not scaring her. I love her.”

The sincerity in his eyes was undeniable, cutting through the haze of medication. Emotion welled up inside you, a tumultuous mix of fear, joy, and uncertainty.

His mother sighed, her stern facade wavering. “Johnny, you’re not thinking clearly. The medication—”

But Johnny shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening. “No, Mum. I know what I’m saying. I love her.”

Tears blurred your vision as you squeezed his hand in return. In that moment, amidst the cold sterility of the hospital room, nothing else mattered.

His mother’s expression softened, resignation and understanding dawning in her eyes. “Alright,” she murmured, stepping back. “But we will talk about this later.”

As the machines continued their rhythmic beeping, you sat beside him, holding his hand, anchoring each other in the storm of uncertainty.