When I finally regained consciousness, all I saw was a cold, sterile white. I lay in a hospital bed, dressed in a thin gown, while a nurse adjusted my IV.
From her, I learned that a man had brought me to the hospital. For a fleeting moment, warmth flooded my heart at the thought that it might be Asher, but as the nurse began to describe the man’s appearance, I realized how naïve I had been.
Physically and mentally drained, I spent a few days in the hospital, recovering in the dull monotony of white walls and soft beeping machines. But when I finally approached the front desk to settle my medical bills, a wave of dread washed over me. My bank card was suspended.
I scrolled through my call logs, my heart sinking as bitterness coursed through me. Not only had he cut off contact, but he had also suspended my card. It was clear he was genuinely furious with me.
Yet, I was too stubborn to grovel for his help again. Instead, I reached out to my best friend for a loan to cover my hospital expenses. With borrowed money in hand, I grabbed my luggage and stepped out of the hospital, ready to face whatever came next.