It had all happened in a flash. You’d always wondered if it was true, that every moment flashed before your eyes when you were about to die. It didn’t. All that had flashed before you was him. Every minute you’d spent with Rafe flashed on a loop. And you thought how unfair it was that you wouldn’t get to experience anymore. That no one even knew what you were to him now. That the big future was all being ripped away.

Maybe you’d been careless. Maybe you’d been too caught up in looking at your finger, or replaying the last hour over in your head, that you hadn’t reacted fast enough. There had to be some reason, some mistake. Because you could have sworn you’d looked before accelerating. Could’ve sworn the way was clear. First there had been silence. And then it was loud crushing, twisting metal as a truck slammed into the side of your car.

Everything after was so loud. People screaming. The wail of the emergency vehicles. The bright, flashing lights. It was all too much. You felt pain and then everything went numb. You could hear voices telling you it was okay, that help was there, and then you heard nothing. Saw nothing. The last thing you saw was Rafe’s face before it all faded to black.

Rafe had been rushing to get back home to you. You two had everything to celebrate and he didn’t want to waste another second of the day at Cameron Enterprises. He passed things off and was getting ready to head out the door when his phone rang. Thinking it was you, he quickly answered. And all the happiness he’d been feeling slipped away as he listened. Accident. Hospital.

He raced out of the building and into his truck, the words playing on repeat in his head. He floored the gas, driving like a maniac and breaking every speed limit to get to you. He pulled up in front of the hospital and leapt from the truck, racing through the doors. He moved on autopilot, searching for you, finally coming to a stop when he sees your parents outside a door crying.

“Where the hell is my wife?” He roars, his heart racing, his eyes wild. He barely feels when your mom takes his hand, barely registers the shock on her face over him calling you his wife. She says a bunch of words that are supposed to be calming, and if he had a cooler head, he’d probably be trying to comfort her too. But all he cares about is you. She indicates for him to enter the room.

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when he enters and sees your sleeping form. Moving closer he can see the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest, and he focuses on that rather than the machines you’re attached to, or the injuries you have. He pulls the chair right up to your bed and sits down, gently interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Baby. I’m here”