The words came out louder than he expected, louder than he had ever spoken to her before. Lisa froze: not from the volume, but from the fear behind it.
Malik reached for the phone. His hands shook—not because he didn't know what to do, but because for the first time, doing something didn't mean fixing it. He dialed, waited, listened. Each second felt like it stretched longer than it should.
"Please," he whispered under his breath.
Lisa watched him, her eyes softened, because she knew this wasn't about control anymore. This was about holding on.
The ambulance lights cut through the darkness like something out of another world: red and white flashes bouncing off the metal walls of the trailer, painting everything in sharp, moving shadows. Neighbors stepped outside. Doors opened. Whispers started.
Malik stood on the steps as two paramedics moved quickly past him, carrying equipment, asking questions, their voices calm but urgent:
"How long has she been like this?"
"Does she have a history of respiratory issues?"
"Any medications?"
Malik answered what he could, what he knew. What he didn't know felt heavier than anything else.
They worked fast—too fast. Lisa was lifted onto the stretcher, her body smaller somehow under the straps and blankets. She reached for Malik's hand; he grabbed it immediately.
"I'm right here," he said.
She smiled faintly, even now. "Always are," she whispered.
The doors closed. The siren came on. And just like that, they were gone.
The hospital felt colder than it should: bright lights, white walls, the kind of clean that didn't feel comforting.
Malik sat in a plastic chair, his elbows on his knees, his hands locked together like if he let go, something would fall apart. Time moved strangely there: too slow, too fast. A nurse walked past, then another. Voices over intercoms, footsteps echoing down long hallways—but none of it mattered. Not until someone said something real.
A doctor finally approached. Malik stood before the man even spoke. "How is she?"
The doctor paused, just long enough. "She's stable," he said.
Malik exhaled, but it wasn't relief. Not fully.
"She needs treatment," the doctor continued. "Tests, medication, possibly more, depending on what we find."
Malik nodded. "I understand."
The doctor looked at him carefully. "Do you have insurance?" he asked.
Malik didn't answer. He didn't need to; the silence said enough.