EXT. HOSPITAL PARKING LOT – LATE AFTERNOON

Link walks toward the car, moving slowly but determined.

It’s his first time outside the hospital as something other than a patient.

Two months of recovery. Of fear and waiting.
Two months away from his kids.
Two months of realizing how close he came to losing everything.

His arm is still in a sling — a constant reminder of the day his life almost ended.

Jo is already in the driver’s seat.

Her hands rest on the steering wheel, shoulders slightly rounded, posture still caught in work mode.

She looks up the moment she sees him — relief, guilt, exhaustion all tangled together.

Link opens the passenger door and climbs in carefully.
The door shuts.

JO
(too quick, apologetic)
I’m sorry, I am sorry. 
I kept checking the time, but they pulled me into another emergency. I couldn’t get away.

Link watches her for a beat before answering.

LINK
It’s okay.
I spent the day in Trauma.

Jo blinks, processing.

JO
(confused)
Wait — what?

LINK
(smiles)
Not as a patient. 
I, uh… followed a trauma case.
Sat in on the surgery.

Jo turns toward him now, really looking.

JO
(teasing)
You’re moving quickly.

LINK
(teasing, gentle)
Well… my wife abandoned me.
I had to find purpose somewhere.

She exhales — half a laugh, half relief.

JO
I really wish I’d gotten you out of there earlier.

LINK
Hey.
Don’t worry about it.

He leans over and kisses her, gentle, grateful, grounding.

Jo closes her eyes for half a second longer than necessary.

JO
Alright.
Let’s get you home.

LINK
Yeah.

She reaches for the ignition. A small pause.

LINK
(joking)
Nice car, huh?
You really weren’t kidding when you said you went all in.

JO
You don’t like our new car?

LINK
I do. I do.

As she shifts in her seat, Jo rubs the back of her neck — then her lower back — absentminded, unconscious.

Link notices.

LINK
You look exhausted.
You sure you don’t want me to drive?

Jo drops her hand, waves it off like it’s nothing.

JO
Pretty sure you’re absolutely not allowed to drive yet.

LINK
(can’t quite hide it)
Yeah…

Not anger.
Just frustration — with timing, with limits, with his own body.

LINK (CONT’D)
Let’s go get that ice cream before we go home.

Jo looks at him. Really looks at him.
A small smile breaks through.

JO
Okay.

She starts the engine.

They pull out of the parking spot — not rushing, not lingering.
Just moving.
Home can wait a few more minutes.

FADE OUT.