I kept my voice low. "Brendon, did he mention feeling dizzy or chest pain before he collapsed?"
He shook his head, too quickly. "No, nothing like that. He was happy, I swear. We talked about baseball, he wanted to practice pitching after dinner. He tripped, that's all. It's not my fault."
I watched him. When he finally met my eyes, something darted across his face — fear, guilt, or both.
"You know that if there’s anything else, I have to tell the doctors, right?"
Brendon opened his mouth, then closed it, jaw working. "Liv, I swear. He didn't say anything."
"He was happy, I swear."
The nurse came in quietly. "I'm sorry, but visiting hours are over. You both need rest."
Brendon sighed, pulling his jacket tight. "I'll head home. Call me if anything changes."
When I turned back to Andrew, the room was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking. I sat by his side, stroking his arm, searching for any sign of warmth beneath all those tubes and wires.
"I'm here, baby," I kept saying. "I'm not going anywhere."
That's when I noticed his fist, curled tight against the sheet. At first, I thought it was just muscle tension, but then I realized he was clutching something. A small piece of paper, crumpled and damp.
