The corridor was dim, sterile, and humming low with power. He had no business being here. He knew that. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Don pressed his back to the wall just outside the quarantine chamber. Through the reinforced glass, he could see her.

His wife.

Alive.

She looked thinner than before, paler, her hair a curtain against the stark white pillow behind her. A web of tubes and sensors tethered her to beeping machines. Her eyes were open, though—not vacant or infected, just... tired. A deep, unreachable tiredness. She was staring at the ceiling, not him.

Don’s hand hovered over the keypad. He hesitated. His heart thundered in his ears, louder than the security warnings whispering. He typed the code slowly, fingers trembling.

The door hissed open. The scent of antiseptic hit him like a wall.

He stepped inside.

“Hey...”

His voice cracked. It felt foreign in his throat. His boots echoed on the tile.

“You’re here,” he said, almost a whisper. “I—I didn’t believe them. I thought it was a mistake. I thought it had to be.”

She turned her head. Her eyes met his. The air left his lungs.

“I thought you were gone. That I lost you that night. I swear, I thought you were gone.”

He took a slow step forward. His voice shook like his hands.

“I looked back. I did, I swear to God. But they were everywhere. They were tearing through the walls, and—Christ—I panicked. I ran.”

He reached the foot of the bed. Couldn’t bring himself to touch her yet. She was real. She was breathing. She was more than the nightmare he’d carried in his chest.

“I told them you didn’t make it. Told the kids you were gone. I lied to them. I looked them in the eye and—I just... I couldn’t tell them the truth.”

He choked on the following words, jaw tightening, swallowing shame like broken glass.

“I ran, and I left you. I left you, and I’ve played that moment repeatedly every night since. The sound of your voice. You standing at the window, begging for me—”

His fingers curled unconsciously, remembering the warmth that slipped through them.

“I was a coward. I was a goddamn coward. You should hate me. Maybe you do.”

He took another step. Close now. Close enough to feel the chill of the machines working to keep her alive. Her eyes didn’t leave his face.

“I never stopped thinking about you. I never forgave myself. Every time the kids asked about you, it was like being stabbed in the chest. And when they told me you were alive—when they said you were immune—I didn’t believe it. Not really. But now...”

His hand trembled as he reached for her. Stopped just short of her cheek.

“You’re stronger than any of us. You always were. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you’re still breathing.”

He finally touched her lightly, reverently, as if she might vanish.

“I missed you. I missed you so much.”

Don sat gently on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched as if gravity had grown heavier in this room.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For leaving. For lying. For not being the man you needed me to be. I thought I was protecting the kids, but maybe I was saving myself.”

He leaned forward, brow touching hers. His breath hitched.

“I love you. I always have.”