Page 7 of Wanted

How vast the world is.

And yet, my entire world is laying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

The layover becomes long enough to drive me crazy, and with each passing mile, my anxiety grows and grows.

“You’re a nervous flyer, right?” I turn to see the man sitting next to me. He looks like the stereotypical grandfather from movies, with white hair, rosy cheeks, and a pair of reading glasses on the tip of his nose.

“It’s my first time,” I reply.

The man doesn’t say another word and I’m grateful for it.

After two flights, a layover, and being graced with the infamous Los Angeles traffic, I finally arrive at the hospital. I run up to the intensive care ward where a nurse sitting behind a desk asks for my identification. I provide what she needs, and she takes me to Lionel.

Nothing could have prepared me for the moment when the nurse opens a glass door and draws back the thick white curtain.

Lionel, laying on a bed with a big bruise on the left side of his face and a thousand tubes and cables coming out of him.

My husband looks as white as the sheet covering his fragile, broken body.

A machine to one side blips with the constant beat of his heart.

Everything is so unreal.

My legs tremble, refusing to hold me up. I take Lionel’s hand and drop to my knees at the side of his bed. The vinyl floor feels cold, but all I care about is feeling his warm skin touching mine.

He’s alive and fighting.

There is life within him, giving me hope that he’ll make it. That he’ll be okay.

And yet this seems straight out of a nightmare that I want to wake up from.

It seems so absurd, it can’t be happening.

I wish I could understand it, but I know it’s something bigger than me.

Nothing is impossible.

Lifting my mask a little, I kiss him on the forehead, being careful not to touch his bruise. Silent minutes creep by as I watch his features, his dark blond hair slicked back, the dimple on his chin. The man I married, as handsome as ever—looks so peaceful.

I have no idea how long I’ve been there when a very tall, well-dressed blonde woman comes in with the nurse.

“Who are you?” she asks with authority. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up the moment I recognize her.

Johanna Kral, the woman in the black SUV, peers closer. “Girl, I asked you who you are? And what are you doing here with my son? Only family is authorized to be in this room.”

I stare at her, dumbfounded.

“What? You don’t speak English?” she says with contempt. “Nurse, please call security, this woman can’t be here.”

I don’t know how but somewhere within me I find the strength to speak. “I’m going nowhere. I have every right to be with my husband.”

She glares, flames shooting from her blue eyes. “That’s impossible!” she refutes. “My son isn’t married, let alone to someone like you.”

She looks me up and down, pointing to my long skirt and the wrinkled shirt I’m wearing.

Well, what did she expect? After all, I had to leave in a hurry to come see him.

“Look, ma’am, I didn’t expect to meet you under these circumstances.” The truth is, I didn’t even know of her existence until a few hours ago, but I swallow those words. “But I’m here and I’m staying.”

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