The room is dim now. Lights lowered. Curtains half-drawn.
The steady hum of machines fills the space — monitors, oxygen, the soft mechanical whisper of the Impella.
Jo lies on her side as much as the lines allow.
Link is in the bed with her, carefully arranged around tubing and leads. Both arms around her.
She’s quiet now. Not asleep yet, just emptied. Her breathing is shallow but even, warming against his chest.
Link presses a soft kiss into her hair. A long moment passes.
JO (soft, barely there) Your shoulder.
Link stiffens slightly, then relaxes.
LINK What about it?
She shifts just enough to look at him. Heavy eyes. Still sharp.
JO You took the sling off.
Not accusing. Just noticing.
LINK Yeah. (a beat) We needed a break from each other.
A faint attempt at lightness. It barely lands.
JO You weren’t supposed to take it off. Not for a month.
He exhales, honest, gentle. No denial.
LINK I know. But I can’t really do any of this one-armed.
He presses another kiss into her hair. She watches him.
JO Does it hurt?
He considers.
LINK Mostly it just feels strange. Like my arm forgot it’s allowed to exist.
That almost gets a breath of a smile from her.
She studies him. Then lets it go. Her forehead drifts back to his chest.
JO You should go to PT. (a beat) I don’t want you messing up your recovery.
LINK I will. (a beat) I promise.
He tightens his hold just slightly.
She nods, accepting that.
Her eyes drift closed again. Another long stretch of quiet. The machines fill the space.
JO (soft, unfocused) I should try pumping again.
Link’s hand stills against her back. He understands immediately what that means.
LINK How did it go earlier? You didn't say.
She barely shakes her head.
JO (hoarse, sad) Not even a drop of colostrum.
The fear is quiet. But real.
Link shifts just enough to look at her. Gentle. Steady.
LINK And we’ll keep trying.
His thumb brushes her arm. Grounding.
LINK (CONT’D) You’re not giving up on it. (a beat) But right now, you need to rest before the surgery. (a softer beat) That’s what gets you back to them.
She holds his gaze for a second. Searching. She nods. Barely.
Then— She breaks. Her body sinks further into him.
Another long beat. Just her uneven, breaking breaths. He holds her.
LINK(CONT'D) I’m here.
She settles a little.
JO (fighting the tears, quiet) I am scared. About tomorrow.
Link doesn’t rush the answer.
LINK I know. (a beat) But it’s not like last time.
He says it carefully. Part reassurance. Part belief he’s choosing.
LINK (CONT’D) You’re stable. And Ndugu does this all the time.
She swallows.
JO What if—
LINK (gently, immediate) Hey.
He shifts slightly, grounding her again.
LINK (CONT’D) No what-ifs. (a beat) I’ve got you. (another beat, softer) They’ve got you. I trust them.
She watches him. Still fragile. Still holding on.
LINK (CONT’D) I’ll go with you as far as they let me.
That lands.
Her eyes fill. But she doesn’t cry this time. Just softens.
LINK (CONT’D) This is how we move forward.
Her body melts further into his. The last tension leaves her shoulders. She looks at him. Fading.
JO I want to hear about them… (a breath) …and the kids. Before I go in.
LINK You will. (a beat) I’ll go see them first thing. And I’ll call my mom.
They lean in as close as the tubing allows. Foreheads touching. A soft kiss. More promise than motion.
LINK(CONT'D) I love you so much.
JO (eyes filling) I love you.
She exhales, long, slow. Sleep finally takes her.
Link doesn’t move. Even as his own exhaustion creeps in. He stays awake, chin resting lightly against her hair.
Listening to the machines. Feeling the mechanical hum beneath his ribs.
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