Theo drove me home from the hospital in silence, understanding that I wasn't ready to talk. That I couldn't talk without falling apart completely. The events of the past two days had caught up to me all at once—a tidal wave of exhaustion, grief, and fear that threatened to drown me if I opened my mouth.

Isla was alive. That should have been enough. Should have been all that mattered.

But she'd pushed me away. Had decided, in her fucked-up state of mind, that she was better off without me. That I was better off without her. Had looked me in the eye and told me she needed to do this alone, when everything in me screamed that alone was the last thing she should be right now.

"You need anything?" Theo asked as he pulled up in front of my building. "Food? Company? A bottle of something strong?"

I shook my head. "Just sleep."

"You sure? You look like hell, man."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious, Cal. When's the last time you actually slept? Or ate something that wasn't hospital cafeteria garbage?"

I couldn't remember. The hours had blurred together since I'd found Isla on her bathroom floor, all sense of time lost in the desperate need to make sure she survived. To make sure she stayed.

"I'll be fine," I said, the words automatic.

Theo didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Just helped me get my chair from the trunk, waited while I transferred from the car.

"Call me if you need anything," he said. "Day or night. I mean it."

I nodded, too tired to argue, and wheeled toward my building. The familiar motions felt foreign somehow, like I was moving through a world I no longer recognized. Everything looked the same—the same entrance, the same elevator, the same door to my apartment—but nothing felt the same. How could it, when Isla was in a hospital bed, wrists bandaged, eyes empty of the light I'd come to rely on?

Inside my apartment, I didn't bother turning on the lights. Just wheeled to the couch and transferred over, my body moving on muscle memory alone. The silence pressed in around me, thick and suffocating. No TV, no music, no distractions. Just me and my thoughts and the image of Isla's face as she'd told me to leave.

I should have seen it coming. Should have known she would push me away once the immediacy of the crisis passed. It was what she did when things got too real, too intense. Run. Hide. Shut down. I'd seen the pattern before, had called her on it even.

So why did it hurt so much this time?

Because I'd believed her when she'd cried in my arms. When she'd said she might love me too. When she'd seemed ready to stay, to fight, to try.

And I'd been wrong.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Probably Theo, checking to make sure I'd made it inside okay. Or my mother, who I'd called briefly to explain why I was missing family dinner. Or maybe Mia, with an update on Isla's apartment.

I couldn't bring myself to check. Couldn't bear any more words, any more questions, any more concern.

Instead, I stared into the darkness of my living room, replaying every moment of the past few days. Looking for the moment where I should have known. Where I should have seen the signs. Where I should have done something differently to prevent Isla from spiraling so far down that death seemed like the only option.

Had it been at the diner, when she'd told me she didn't know how to be loved? Or earlier, when she'd first disappeared after our kiss? Or even before that, when I'd first noticed the fresh scars on her arms?

There had been so many chances, so many moments where I could have pushed harder, asked more questions, refused to let her withdraw. And I'd failed every single time.

"Fuck," I whispered to the empty room, the word inadequate for the tidal wave of emotion crashing through me.

I'd failed her. Failed to see how much she was hurting. Failed to stop her before she took a razor to her own skin. Failed to keep her from pushing me away when she needed me most.

And I'd failed myself, too. Failed to protect my heart from falling for someone who might never be able to love me back the way I needed. Who might never trust me enough to let me all the way in. Who might always run when things got too real.

The realization broke something loose inside me, a dam I'd been building since I'd found her. Since I'd dragged myself up those stairs, arms burning, legs useless, heart pounding with fear that I'd be too late.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. But it was a losing battle. Too much had happened, too much fear and adrenaline and hope and despair had coursed through me in too short a time. My body needed the release, even if my mind resisted it.

So I let go. Let the tears come, hot and fierce, shoulders shaking with the force of sobs I couldn't contain any longer. Cried for Isla, so broken she'd tried to end her own life. For myself, so helpless to save her from her own demons. For both of us, caught in a cycle of reaching and withdrawing that seemed destined to leave us both alone.

I don't know how long I sat there, crying in the dark like a child. Long enough for my tears to run dry, for my breathing to steady, for the knot in my chest to loosen from unbearable to merely painful.

The sound of my door opening barely registered at first, so lost was I in my own misery. Then a light flicked on, momentarily blinding me.

"Jesus Christ, Cal."

Theo stood in my doorway, keys in hand, concern etched across his face. Right. He had a spare key. Had probably been texting, then calling, then worrying when I didn't respond.

"Go away," I muttered, wiping roughly at my face.

"Not happening." He closed the door behind him, dropping a bag on the counter. "I brought food. And beer."

"Not hungry."

"Don't care. You need to eat." He moved into the kitchen, the rustling of the bag incongruously normal amid my breakdown. "When's the last time you showered? You stink."

"Fuck off."

"Nope. Friends don't let friends sit in the dark and marinate in their own filth." He appeared in front of me, holding out a bottle of water. "Drink this. Then shower. Then we'll talk."

I glared at him, but took the water, suddenly aware of how thirsty I was. Drained half the bottle in one go.

"I'm fine," I said, the lie so obvious it would have been funny in any other context.

"Yeah, you look fine. Totally normal to sit in the dark crying."

"I wasn't crying."

"Sure. And I'm the queen of England." He headed back to the kitchen. "Shower, Cal. I'll heat up the food."

It was easier to comply than to argue. And honestly, a shower sounded like heaven after two days in the same clothes, the smell of hospital and fear and Isla's blood still clinging to my skin despite the scrub-down a nurse had given me in the ER.

Twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling marginally more human. Clean, at least, though the bone-deep exhaustion remained. Theo had set the coffee table with containers of Thai food, the smell making my stomach growl despite my lack of appetite.

"Better?" he asked, looking up from his phone.

"Marginally."

"Progress." He handed me a plate. "Eat."

I took it, not because I wanted to, but because I didn't have the energy to fight him. Picked at the Pad Thai without really tasting it, forcing down bites because my body needed the fuel even if my mind wasn't interested.

"You want to talk about it?" Theo asked after I'd eaten enough to satisfy him.

"Not really."

"Tough. Talk anyway."

I sighed, setting down my fork. "What do you want me to say? That I'm a mess? That I feel like I failed her? That I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do now?"

"Yes. All of that."

"Well, there you go. I said it."

Theo leaned forward, his expression serious. "She's alive, Cal. That's what matters. Whatever else happens, you found her in time. You saved her life."

"Did I? Because from where I'm sitting, I'm the reason she tried to kill herself in the first place."

"Bullshit. She tried to kill herself because she's severely mentally ill, not because of anything you did or didn't do."

"She ran because of me. Because of us. Because it got too real and she got scared and she didn't know how to handle it."

"Maybe. Or maybe she ran because that's what she always does when things get tough. You said it yourself, it's a pattern with her."

I couldn't argue with that. It was what I'd been thinking earlier, before Theo arrived. That Isla's instinct, when pushed to the edge, was always to run. To isolate. To hide.

"I should have seen it coming," I said instead. "Should have known she was in that bad a place."

"How? You're not a mind reader, Cal. You're not her therapist. You're just a guy who cares about her."

"A guy who loves her," I corrected, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Theo's expression softened. "Yeah, I know."

"And she pushed me away. Again. Told me she needs to do this alone. That she can't have me around while she tries to get better."

"And you believed her?"

I looked up, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you really think she's making rational decisions right now? That she's in the right place to know what she needs or doesn't need?"

I hadn't considered that. Had taken her words at face value, assuming she knew her own mind, her own needs, better than I did.

"She seemed pretty clear about it," I said slowly.

"She seemed clear about killing herself, too. Doesn't mean it was the right decision."

"That's different."

"Is it? Both decisions are coming from the same fucked-up place. The same belief that she's not worth saving, not worth loving, not worth sticking around for."

I stared at him, his words hitting me like a physical blow. He was right. Of course he was right. Isla pushing me away was just another form of self-destruction, another way of punishing herself for being "broken," another manifestation of her belief that she didn't deserve love or support.

"Fuck," I whispered, the realization like ice in my veins.

"Yeah."

"So what do I do? Ignore what she asked for? Force my way in when she explicitly told me she needs space?"

Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know, man. I don't have the answers. But I do know that sitting here in the dark blaming yourself isn't helping anyone, least of all her."

He was right about that too. I'd been wallowing, drowning in self-pity and guilt and recrimination. As if my pain somehow mattered right now, when Isla was in a hospital bed, wrists bandaged, under psychiatric observation.

"I just feel so fucking useless," I admitted, the words catching in my throat. "She was dying, and I couldn't even stand up. Couldn't run to her. Couldn't do the most basic fucking thing to help the woman I love."

Theo's hand came down on my shoulder, warm and solid. "You did more than anyone else ever has," he said firmly. "You found her. You got to her. You kept her alive until help came. And you did it despite every obstacle in your way."

"It doesn't feel like enough."

"It was enough. She's alive because of you, Cal. Whatever happens next, whatever she decides, whatever choices she makes, that part doesn't change. You saved her life."

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to take comfort in the knowledge that I'd found her in time, that I'd managed to keep her from bleeding out on her bathroom floor. That she was still breathing, still in this world, still capable of healing.

But it didn't erase the image of her lying there, so pale and still. Didn't silence the echo of her voice telling me to leave, to give her space, to let her do this alone. Didn't change the fact that, even after everything, she still didn't believe she was worth loving. Worth staying for. Worth fighting for.

"I can't lose her," I said, the words barely audible. "Not like this. Not when we were so close to something real."

"You haven't lost her yet," Theo reminded me. "She's still here. Still fighting, in her own way. And so are you."

"But what if it's not enough? What if she never lets me in again? What if this is as close as we ever get?"

Theo squeezed my shoulder. "Then at least you'll know you tried. That you didn't give up when it got hard. That you loved her the best way you knew how."

It wasn't the reassurance I wanted. Wasn't the promise that everything would work out, that Isla would come to her senses, that we'd find our way back to each other. But it was the truth, and I appreciated Theo for not offering false hope or empty platitudes.

"I hate this," I said simply.

"I know."

"I don't know how to just... wait. To stand by while she pushes me away. To trust that she knows what she needs when everything about this situation screams that she doesn't."

"One day at a time, man. That's all any of us can do."

The familiar phrase, the same one I'd offered Isla the night before, hit me with unexpected force. One day at a time. It had gotten me through the worst days after my accident, the darkest nights when the pain and loss had seemed unbearable. It could get me through this too. Through today, at least. And then tomorrow. And the next day.

"Yeah," I said, exhaling slowly. "One day at a time."

Theo nodded, seeming to sense I'd turned some corner in my thinking. "So, for today, what do you need? Besides food and sleep, which you're getting whether you want them or not."

I considered the question, really considered it. What did I need, right now, to make it through this day? This hour? This moment?

"I need to know she's okay," I said finally. "That she's safe."

"I can call the hospital, check on her status for you."

"And I need to not be alone. At least not tonight."

Theo nodded. "Consider me your new roommate for the foreseeable future. I'll crash on your couch, keep you company, make sure you don't spiral again."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I'm going to anyway, because that's what friends do." He squeezed my shoulder once more before letting go. "And because you'd do the same for me."

He was right. I would. Had, in fact, after his last breakup, when he'd spent a week on my couch drinking too much and talking about the one that got away. I'd listened, kept him from doing anything stupid, made sure he ate and showered and eventually rejoined the land of the living.

Now he was doing the same for me. And I was grateful, even if I couldn't quite say it out loud.

"Finish your food," Theo said, standing up. "I'll call the hospital."

He disappeared into the kitchen with his phone, giving me the illusion of privacy as I picked at the rest of my dinner. I wasn't hungry, not really, but I recognized the practical necessity of eating. Of keeping my body functioning even when my heart felt like it had been torn in two.

Theo returned a few minutes later, his expression carefully neutral. "She's stable," he reported. "They moved her to the psych unit this afternoon. The nurse couldn't tell me much else, but she's safe."

I nodded, relief washing through me even as disappointment followed. I'd known they were transferring her today, had even been told about the 24-hour no-visitors policy. But some irrational part of me had hoped for more. For news that she was asking for me, perhaps. That she'd changed her mind about pushing me away.

"Thanks," I said, setting down my fork. "For checking. For coming over. For... all of it."

Theo shrugged, uncomfortable with the gratitude. "You don't need to thank me. Now finish your food before I force-feed you like a toddler."

I managed a small smile at the threat, oddly comforted by his concern. This, at least, was familiar territory. Theo looking out for me, pushing me when I needed pushing, giving me space when I needed space. The one constant in my life since childhood.

I ate a few more bites, then set the plate aside. "I think I need to sleep now," I admitted. "I'm about to crash."

"Go for it. I'll clean up, make myself at home. Your spare blankets still in the closet?"

I nodded, already wheeling toward my bedroom. "Help yourself to whatever you need."

"Will do. And Cal?"

I paused, turning back to look at him.

"It's going to be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. She's getting help. You're letting her. That's all either of you can do right now."

I wished I could believe him. Wished I could see the path forward as clearly as he seemed to. But all I could see was Isla in that hospital bed, pale and broken, pushing me away because she believed it was the right thing to do. Believed she was protecting me from her darkness, her damage, her demons.

And maybe she was, in her own way. Maybe separation was what we both needed right now, space to heal our respective wounds, to gather our strength for whatever came next.

But as I transferred to my bed, not bothering to undress, exhaustion pulling me under almost immediately, one thought remained.

I loved her. With all her brokenness, all her fear, all her instinct to run when things got hard. I loved her, and I was afraid I would lose her anyway. Not to death this time, but to her own conviction that she wasn't worthy of being loved. Of being saved. Of being chosen.

And I had no idea how to fight that. How to prove her wrong when she wouldn't let me close enough to try.

So for tonight, I would sleep. Would let exhaustion claim me, would trust Theo to keep watch, would take comfort in the knowledge that Isla was safe in the hospital, getting the help she so desperately needed.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own decisions, its own steps forward or back. But for now, for this moment, I would rest. Would conserve my strength for the battles to come.

Because I wasn't giving up. Not on Isla. Not on us. Not on the future I still believed we could have, if only she would let herself believe it too.

One day at a time. It had gotten me through the darkest days of my life before.

It would have to be enough now, too.