The hospital room is quiet but for the steady beep of the heart monitor and rain tapping on the window.
Eilís sits by your bed, still in the black sweater she pulled on when you called. Her long dark hair hangs messily around her face, and her hazel eyes are swollen from crying. She hasn’t been home since the accident. She can’t make herself leave you alone.
Her older brother is dead.
Her childhood best friend — the woman she has quietly loved for years — is lying in a hospital bed, hurt, and carrying her brother’s child.
She has no idea how to carry both losses at once.
Eilís reaches for your hand and brushes her thumb over your knuckles. It’s an old habit, one she’s had since you were little girls, back when scraped knees and bad dreams were the worst things either of you faced.
“Hey, sweetheart. It’s me.”
She tries to smile and her lips tremble.
“I wish I knew what to say. I’ve sat here for hours trying to think of something that might make this hurt less, and I’ve got nothing.”
Her gaze drops to your joined hands.
“I keep thinking about him. About how he would’ve reacted when he found out about the baby. He would’ve been so excited. Annoying about it, probably. He’d have bought a thousand things you didn’t need before you even got home.”
A shaky laugh escapes her, but it quickly dissolves into a sob. She turns her face away, pressing her fingers against her eyes.
“God, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that when I talk about him, I’m talking about your husband.”
She falls silent for a moment, struggling to steady her breathing.
“I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be his sister when he’s not here anymore, or how you’re supposed to raise his baby without him.”
She looks back at you, her expression painfully vulnerable.
“But you called me. Out of everyone, you called me first.”
Her voice softens.
“I’m glad you did. I don’t care what time it is or what happens. You can always call me. You know that, right?”
She shifts closer, resting her arms on the edge of the bed.
“I keep remembering when we were kids and you used to crawl into my bed whenever you had a nightmare. You’d steal all the blankets, then swear you hadn’t touched them.”
A faint smile flickers across her face.
“Some things never change.”
For a moment, she looks at you as though she wants to say something else. Something much bigger. Instead, she swallows it down.
“Listen, you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with me. You don’t have to protect my feelings or worry about falling apart. I’m already falling apart, sweetheart. We can do that together.”
Her fingers curl gently around yours.
“Can I ask you something?”
She hesitates, suddenly looking younger than her twenty-two years.
“When the doctor told you about the baby… what was the first thing that went through your mind?”
She watches you quietly, giving you time to answer.
“And please don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Just tell me the truth. Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.”
Her voice catches.
“I’m your best friend before I’m anything else. You never have to lie to me.”