Chapter 68: You Promised You’d Stay I stepped fully into the corridor. The air didn’t shift. The light didn’t change. The walls didn’t close in. Nothing moved except me. One foot. Then the other. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. Mirabel was behind me. I could feel her there. Not breathing. Not speaking. Just watching. Waiting. Like she always had. The child didn’t turn right away. She stayed still. Small. Facing forward. Clutching that rabbit like it was the only thing holding her together. I stopped a few steps away. Close enough to reach out. Close enough to touch. Close enough to break. I didn’t move. She didn’t move. The silence stretched. Not empty. Not peaceful. Just heavy. Like it was waiting for me to do something. Say something. Fix something. I didn’t know what. I didn’t know how. I just stood there. Staring at the back of her head. At the blue ribbon in her hair. At the frayed edge of the rabbit’s ear. At the way her fingers curled around its body. Tight. Desperate. Like she was holding on to the last thing that made her real. Then she moved. Just a twitch. Just a shift. Just a sigh. And then, slowly, she turned. Her face was small. Pale. Eyes wide. Lips parted slightly. Not crying. Not screaming. Not angry. Just… waiting. Like she had been here since the first breath. Like she would be here until the last. She looked at me. Not through me. Not past me. At me. Like she knew me. Like she remembered me. Like she had been waiting for me to come back. Her mouth opened. One word. Soft. Barely there. But I heard it. Clear. Sharp. Like a knife sliding between my ribs. “You promised you’d stay.” I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Staring. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. She reached out. Her hand was small. Pale. Trembling. Fingers curled slightly. Like she was afraid I wouldn’t take it. Like she was afraid I would. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think. I didn’t weigh it. I just reached out. My hand moved before my mind caught up. Before my guilt could stop me. Before my fear could freeze me. Before my past could pull me back. I took her hand. Her fingers closed around mine. Small. Cold. Fragile. But strong. Like she was holding on for both of us. Like she was the one keeping me here. Not the other way around. The moment our fingers touched, the corridor collapsed. Not with a sound. Not with a shudder. Just… gone. Like it had never been there. Like it had been waiting to dissolve the second I touched her. The floor vanished. The walls vanished. The ceiling vanished. The light vanished. Everything vanished. Except her. And me. And the memory. It didn’t flood in. It didn’t crash over me. It didn’t drag me under. It just… was. Like I had always been here. Like I had never left. The hospital hallway. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. White lights. White everything. Sterile. Cold. Empty. Except for us. Me. Ten years old. Standing at the end of the hallway. Watching. Her. Six years old. Clutching the rabbit. Standing in the middle of the hallway. Waiting. The orderlies. Two of them. Tall. Broad. Wearing white coats. Moving toward her. Slow. Steady. Like they had done this a hundred times before. Like they didn’t even see her. Like she was just another thing to be moved. Another problem to be solved. Another file to be signed. She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She didn’t run. She just stood there. Clutching the rabbit. Watching me. Waiting for me to do something. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. The orderlies reached her. One of them put a hand on her shoulder. Gentle. Firm. Like he was helping her cross the street. Like he was guiding her to class. Like he wasn’t about to take her away from me. Forever. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t fight. She didn’t look at him. She looked at me. Her eyes locked on mine. Wide. Wet. Silent. Begging. Not with words. Not with tears. Just with her gaze. Just with her presence. Just with the weight of everything I had promised her. Everything I had sworn to her. Everything I had failed her. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. The orderly’s hand tightened. Just slightly. Just enough to guide her forward. Just enough to pull her away from me. Just enough to break the last thread between us. She didn’t resist. She didn’t look back. She just let him lead her away. Step by step. Down the hallway. Away from me. Toward the door. Toward the room. Toward the table. Toward the scalpel. Toward the silence. Toward the end. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. The door closed behind them. Soft. Quiet. Final. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Alone. In the empty hallway. In the white silence. In the cold light. In the weight of everything I had done. Everything I had failed to do. Everything I had broken. Everything I had lost. I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I didn’t breathe. I just stood there. Until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Until the silence became too loud. Until the memory became too heavy. Until the regret became too sharp. I dropped to my knees. The floor was cold. Hard. Unforgiving. Like it had been waiting for me to fall. Like it had known I would. I screamed. Not at the orderlies. Not at the door. Not at the hospital. Not at the world. At myself. At the boy standing at the end of the hallway. Watching. Waiting. Doing nothing. “Move!” I screamed. “Move! Move! Move!” He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. He just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. I screamed again. Louder. Raw. Desperate. Like if I screamed hard enough, long enough, loud enough, he would hear me. He would listen. He would move. He would run. He would fight. He would break something. He would steal her away. He would keep his promise. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t breathe. He just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing. This was it. This was the regret. This was the moment. This was the breath. This was the beginning of the end. I reached out. Toward her. Toward the memory. Toward the past. Toward the moment I could still fix. My fingers brushed against hers. Small. Cold. Fragile. And then— She slipped away.