Page 182 of Ghost Ribbon

I tried to stay. I wanted to remain inside the green of his gaze a moment longer, to tell him I had heard him across the dark, that I had fought my way back for that smile. But the pull of exhaustion was softer, and my eyes slipped closed again before I could hold on.

The next time I opened my eyes the haze had thinned.

And the first thing I saw was Alexei’s face.

He was already moving before I had fully focused. One second he was in the chair against the wall; the next he was at the side of the bed, dropping to his knees as if the floor had pulled him down. Why was he kneeling? The sight of him like that - folding himself so low - made my heart twist.

His hand found mine. “You’re awake…”

The words left him disbelieving. Then I felt the fine tremor running through his entire body. It traveled from his hand into mine.

And then I saw the tears. They slipped over his lower lashes and down his cheeks.

Oh god.

What have I done to him?

I had seen his eyes wet before but never like this.

I shook my head, the movement small and weak. “Don’t… cry.”

My voice came out rough, scraped from disuse and tubes. It barely sounded like me.

Alexei lifted my hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it, lips lingering against my skin as if he needed the proof of warmth. I felt the wetness of a tear there too. Slowly, with more effort than it should have taken, I moved my fingers. They brushed the soft curve of his lower lip, tracing the shape of it, trying to lift the corners into the smile I knew better than my own.

And he gave it to me.

The smile came naturally. He kissed my hand again. “You came back to me.”

I did.

But how?

The question circled slowly inside my head. Had they found me a heart? Had some miracle arranged itself while I was gone?

A doctor appeared at the other side of the bed, checking monitors, adjusting something near my shoulder.

“How are you feeling, Marco?”

I turned my head toward the voice. Everything still felt distant around the edges, but the words reached me clearly enough.

“Tired…”

The doctor nodded as if that was the expected answer. He examined me - listening to my chest, checking my pupils, asking me to squeeze his fingers. “You underwent a heart transplant. The surgery itself went well. The new heart is functioning as we hoped. You’ll be monitored closely over the next days and weeks. If you feel anything unusual, pain that worsens, difficulty breathing, a sense that something is simply… off, you must tell us immediately. Do you understand?”

I blinked once, slow.

A heart transplant.

So a miracle had happened after all.

I looked back at Alexei, still kneeling, his tears slowed, but the wet tracks remained on his cheeks. I squeezed his fingers the smallest amount I could manage.

The doctor stayed a little longer.

He spoke of my recovery but I listened with only half my mind. The other half stayed fixed on the man still kneeling beside the bed, green eyes never leaving my face.

When the explanations finally ended, the doctor adjusted the IV line, checked the monitors one last time, and stepped back.