I Thought the Girl Who Sat Beside My Hospital Bed Was Just My Imagination—Until I Opened My Front Door
The nights were always the hardest. Daytime at least pretended to move forward—nurses changing shifts, carts rattling down the hallway, muted conversations drifting in from somewhere beyond my door. But at night, time collapsed. Minutes stretched until they felt endless, and the steady beeping of machines became the only proof that I still existed. I…