<b>Chapter </b><b>182 </b>


    Elena’s POV:


    >


    I pushed up slowly from the edge of the bed, my limbs aching. It was an unfamiliar sensation, this weakness.


    It was hard at first, my knees trembling, my shoulders burning with a dull ache, but Niki held my hand. He guided me towards the physical therapy setup in the small hospital room, his movements slow, as if he were afraid I would shatter into a million pieces if he let go.


    +15


    A week had passed since I woke up, a week that felt both like a single, disoriented minute and a long, drawn–out eternity. There had been a constant stream of information and tests. ording to them, it was a miracle I had survived three gunshots and was recovering perfectly fine. I had smiled and nodded, epting their praise, but a part of me felt a cold, hard hollowness. A miracle? Maybe for me, but what about the man whose heart I had broken, whose mind I had shattered?


    I side–eyed Niki as we took our first steps. His eyes were red, shadowed with a deep, aching exhaustion. It was obvious, painfully so, that he hadn’t slept, not a single, restful night. He wouldn’t tell me straight. He would deflect, change the subject, or offer a dismissive wave of his hand.


    But it was obvious. The nightmares were there, lurking beneath the surface of his calm. Only now, after facing him, after seeing him cry in my arms all night the day I woke up, did I realize the full scope of his pain. I had been so cruel to him. So selfish.


    He loved me. I was someone he loved, a woman who had be the center of his world, and I’d gotten onto hisp, using myself as a meat shield to protect him. I had acted on pure, gut instinct, with no thought for the aftermath, for the man who would have to pick up the pieces. If he’d done the same… I would have hated it too. I would be in a worse condition than he was, a constant, unrelenting hell of guilt, anger, and fear. My own pain would have been nothingpared to the agony of watching him take bullets for me.


    But… I was selfish once again. Because I knew if I had to go back in time, if I had to make the decision between letting him die or using myself as a shield, I’ll still make the same decision. My love for him was a fierce, protective thing, more powerful than any fear of pain or death.


    “Are


    you still mad at me?” I whispered. His grip on my hand tightened minutely, a small, subtle pressure that was a silent answer. He shook his head, his gaze fixed on my feet, on the way they shuffled forward. “No. Why would I be mad at you?” he answered, his voice t.


    I sighed. “Then why won’t you look at me?” I needed to see his eyes. He’d refused to meet my gaze properly for days.


    He paused, a momentary hesitation that felt like an eternity. Slowly, he locked eyes with me, a deep, sad brown that was full of a quiet fear. However, I barely had any time to admire them when a hiss escaped my lips as I felt pain shoot up my spine. The muscles in my back spasmed, and I stumbled, my knees giving out from under me. Niki jolted and stopped me from walking any further, his arms shooting out to catch me, to hold me up.


    “That’s enough. Sit down.” His voice was a raw, furious whisper. I winced. “I only just began, Niki. It’s bound to hurt a little.” I tried to argue, but his eyes were firm.


    He shook his head decisively. “No. It shouldn’t. Sit down.” I listened to his instruction, my protests dying in my throat, as he guided me to sit on the sofa next to the wall. He knelt on the floor in front of me, his hands gently checking my back.


    “If I keep this pace up, it’ll take a year for me to walk properly.” I said in frustration. I felt a wave of despair wash over me. I wanted my life back. I wanted to be whole again.


    He looked up at me then. He reached out and gently touched my face, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. “Doesn’t matter. You can take ten years. As a matter of fact, you don’t even need to walk. I’ll carry you.” A nurse behind me snickered, a small, amused sound, and I huffed, my cheeks flushing a deep red.


    “You can stop worrying so much, you know? I’m fine. I’m here…” I said, my voice soft as I tried to reassure him. I grabbed his face, my hands on his cheeks, to turn him to look at me, to force him to see that I was right in front of him, whole and alive.


    His eyes… were full of fear. How was I supposed to not feel guilty? If he looked at me this way, if he carried this painful burden on his own, I would break. I pulled him closer and kissed him softly, a gentle, tender pressure that was meant to be a silent promise. A promise that I was here. That I was not leaving him again.


    In this past week, I’d seen him handle Haider so proficiently. He was a natural, a father in every sense of the word. I mean. It was understandable, I had been in aa for five months. He’d had to learn to care of a child alone. The thought brought me both a deep sense of gratitude and a sharp, bitter pang of guilt. I had apologized for dumping so much responsibility on him, for leaving him to bear the weight of a child on his own. But it had only made him angry. That I had called myself and Haider a ‘responsibility.


    “<i>You </i>two are my reasons to live./That’s what he’d said.


    “Oh good. You’re here!” I heard Aunt Rose’s voice, a cheerful, boisterous sound that was a wee distraction. She’d only visited twice or so in the past week. She had been busy now with her orders since she’d begun her bakery work again. This time from home. I smelled the scent of cookies and my


    heart jumped.


    “Are those peanut butter?” I asked, my voice a hopeful thing, and she smiled as she nodded.


    I turned to look behind her, and of course, mom followed right behind her. She had a small, tired smile on her face, and her eyes, like Niki’s, were full of concern.


    Niki stood up to greet them with a hug. And that’s another oddity I had noticed. He’d began calling my mom, mom. I didn’t mean odd in a bad way, though. It felt nice. He’d joked about it once, months ago, hadn’t he? But he’d never gotten around to actually calling her mother. He was always so careful, so formal, so… distant.


    However, he’d been a bit evasive when I’d heard it the first time, a quick, embarrassed flush on his cheeks. He’d apologized even for calling her that, as if he were overstepping some invisible boundary. It had made meugh, because what was there to be sorry about? Of course, I was happy that he felt safe and trusted my mother, that he was allowing himself to be vulnerable and cared for.


    It felt nice. Like we were finally aplete family.


    “We should probably head up. It’s Haider’s feeding time.” Niki said, his voice low. He helped me into the wheelchair and we made our way to the hospital room in silence.


    “So… when do you guys n on discharging?” Mom asked, her voice quiet and hopeful as she sat on


    the bed, held Haider and fed him from the bottle.


    I pursed my lips, shooting a nce at Niki, who was putting the form back in the cupboard. I knew he was going to try and evade this. “I would love to go home.” I said, the words in a silent plea to


    him.


    “But she isn’t recovered yetpletely. I was thinking of waiting till-” Niki was cut off by Aunt


    Rose.


    “Honey… you’ve all been cooped up here now for almost a year. Haider is growing well and Elena is out of danger. As far as therapy, whether physical or mental goes, I’m sure it will be way better to do it in a homey environment. I’m sure it’ll be a faster recovery. You’ll only feel more depressed if you kept. staying here, you know?” she said, her voice calm and logical. I nodded, agreeing with her, as I prayed silently that Nikj would listen.


    I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Niki’s depressive atmosphere. He barelyughed anymore. Always <b>on </b>the edge, like something was going to go wrong. I didn’t me him. But I wanted <b>him </b><b>to </b><b>improve </b><b>and </b>recover. I didn’t want him to spiral even further<b>… </b>