She hadn’t left his side since she had been cleared for her own exhaustion and was allowed to move freely again. Morgan still looked distorted with different cuts and bruise and swellings. He’d only regained consciousness for a few moments here and there, and no one was sure that he even knew where he was in those moments. But Bryna sat at his side nonetheless, eating whenever someone brought her food and sleeping bent in half, her head resting on his bed somewhere near his elbow. She rarely moved, and barely spoke, but sat there, studying his face or reading over his charts, especially the ones that detailed his should have been impossible surgery, reading as if she hadn’t been there to witness the whole thing.
There were half hearted discussions about making her move, go somewhere, do something—but when even Katie agreed that Bryna should be allowed to stay, all discussion dropped. It was against the normal order of things, but there was clearly very little normal about the whole situation.
Three weeks passed like that. Morgan’s status didn’t change, and Bryna didn’t leave. Everyone discussed giving up, that despite the seeming miracle of Morgan’s surgery, maybe he wasn’t actually meant to make it through this. He wouldn’t have been the first to give his life for this cause.
But Bryna wouldn’t hear any of it. She couldn’t. After all he’d done for her, she couldn’t have given up on him. And for three weeks, nothing changed.
Until one morning she woke up, and everything had changed.