A flood of gentle, golden light bathed the entire room, casting a warm glow upon the white ceiling and walls that enveloped me as my eyelids fluttered open. The pristine whiteness of the surroundings created an ambiance of purity. The ceiling, adorned with delicate crown molding, appeared to stretch endlessly above me, invoking a sense of grandeur and possibility. The walls with two windows, gleaming with a satin finish as the sunlight danced upon their surface, intricate patterns of shadows and highlights emerged, adding depth and intrigue to the room's aesthetic.
The sunlight caressed every corner of the room, illuminating hidden nooks and crannies. Its gentle touch brought to life the carefully chosen accents that adorned the walls—a collection of romantic paintings with their hues rich and vibrant, stirring the depths of my soul.
The room is spacious and thoughtfully designed, with a sense of comfort and functionality in every detail. My bed, positioned near the window, is adorned with crisp, white sheets and plump pillows, inviting the patient to rest and recover. A cozy armchair is nestled in a corner, various medical equipment discreetly occupy spaces around the room, a heart rate monitor softly beeps in the background, and a small bedside table holds a vase of fresh flowers.
The room enveloped me in an ambiance so perfectly attuned to my preferences, as if someone had curated every detail specifically for my comfort. A sigh escaped my lips, betraying the weakness that coursed through my entire body, reminding me of the harrowing incident I had endured. My hand instinctively clutched at my chest, where a heavy weight seemed to settle, causing the heart rate monitor to quicken its relentless beat while my breaths grew shallow and rapid.
In that moment, the door swung open, and a figure swiftly entered, drawn by the urgency conveyed by the heart rate monitor. A man in his early thirties, clad in a pristine lab gown and with a stethoscope draped around his neck, took immediate control of the situation. Following closely behind him were two women dressed in crisp nurse uniforms, ready to assist in any way they could. Yet, it was the presence of another unexpected figure that caused my heart to skip a beat.
"D-denver..." I managed to utter, my voice barely above a whisper, as I struggled to regulate my breathing.
The doctor's gaze faltered for an instant, locking with mine, a mixture of concern and recognition flickering in his eyes. The weight of my panic intensified as I looked to Denver.
"You need to leave, Velasquez," the doctor implored, his voice a steadfast command, attempting to usher him away from the turmoil of the moment.
Panic etched across his features, Denver's determination wavered, but he fought against the restraining hands of the nurses. His voice lashed out, filled with irritation and a hint of fear. "I need to stay!" he declared, his every word a testament to the depth of his concern. His gaze locked onto mine. "Sharmienne..."
As the door swung open, a commanding presence filled the room, causing a shift in the atmosphere. The unfamiliar voice echoed through the space, its authoritative tone demanding attention. Though my view was partially obscured by the doctor's figure, I sensed that someone's strong physique and unwavering confidence.
The doctor swiftly intervened to assuage my anxieties with a calm demeanor as he worked his magic on my condition. Their voices mingled in the room, creating a symphony of concern and urgency.
"Mr. Galvosa, she's stable now," the doctor announced, turning to face the man who had arrived earlier. The nurse expertly placed an oxygen mask over my face, providing a soothing embrace of fresh air. Supported by their gentle touch, I began to regain my composure, though I could feel Denver's intense gaze fixed upon me, his features etched with a mix of worry and relief.
A smile formed on my lips, my heart leaping at the sight of him. Despite his clenched jaw and the undeniable tension, Denver closed the distance between us, his presence radiating warmth. In that tender moment, his lips brushed against my forehead, sending a wave of comfort coursing through my body. I closed my eyes, basking in the solace he offered.
"Get well, wife," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion, his steely gray eyes locked onto mine. Tears welled up in my eyes, sparkling with a mixture of confusion and a hint of longing. Emotions swirled within me as I struggled to comprehend the depth of his actions. 
Why was Denver showing such tenderness and affection now, when things between us had been strained and distant for so long? Yet, despite the lingering uncertainty, I nodded in response, my heart yearning to believe in this sudden surge of warmth between us.
"Why are you here again, Velasquez? I've prohibited you from coming here, don't you understand?" The authoritative voice of the man who had entered earlier growled, his eyes locked with Denver. My gaze flicked between the two of them, sensing the tension radiating in the air.
The man, who appeared to be in his late 40s or early 50s, possessed a commanding presence. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him an air of maturity, while his stern features exuded an aura of power and authority. He resembled my father in physique, but his hardened expression and imposing demeanor made him appear more intimidating.
"I am her husband, sir," Denver's voice rang out, unwavering and determined. "I have every right to be here."
The man's gaze briefly shifted toward me, and our eyes locked for a fleeting moment, disregarding Denver's presence. In his rich brown irises, I saw the concern, protectiveness, and an underlying plea for understanding. Our connection felt palpable, bridging the distance between us.
"How are you feeling, hija?" The man's voice softened slightly, the harshness giving way to a touch of concern. 
I opened my mouth to respond, but Denver swiftly silenced me with a gentle hushing gesture. "She can't talk right now, sir," he interjected, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and care.
"Velasquez's right, Mr. Galvosa," the doctor interjected, his voice filled with a mix of authority and empathy. He stood by Denver's side, reinforcing his stance. "It's imperative that my patient receives the necessary rest and recuperation before any further conversations take place."
Mr. Galvosa loomed over us. His piercing gaze bore into mine as he absorbed the doctor's words, contemplating his next move. His face remained a mask of stern resolve.
"Rest is of utmost importance for her recovery," the doctor emphasized, his words carrying a sense of urgency. "She needs time to regain her strength and stability before any discussions can occur. Please understand the situation, Mr. Galvosa."
"Very well," he relented, his voice resonating with an air of resignation. He glanced at Denver. "But remember, Velasquez, I expect a thorough explanation once she's well enough."
Denver nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze unwavering as he held Mr. Galvosa's intense scrutiny. As Mr. Galvosa retreated from the room, the atmosphere eased, the weight of his presence gradually dissipating. 
“I'll leave you two here," the doctor declared, his words carrying a hint of understanding. He cast a knowing glance between Denver and me before departing, his footsteps fading into the distance along with the echoing whispers of medical personnel.
Alone in the room, the air thick with a potent unspoken emotions, Denver positioned himself at my side. His touch was gentle, his fingers intertwining with mine, offering a lifeline amidst the chaos that surrounded us. His eyes, a storm of emotions, fixated upon the bandages encasing my chest, his gaze filled with a mixture of concern.
I mustered the courage to speak, my voice trembling, betraying the weight of my uncertainties. "D-Denver..." I stammered, the sound of my own voice resonating through the room. "Why are you here? H-how did you find me? W-what happened to Liene's hometown after that explosion? W-where's K-kian and Daniel?"
A heavy sigh escaped Denver's lips, resonating with a burden carried deep within his being. He continued to hold my gaze, his gray eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions that mirrored my own thoughts.
"Hmm?" he responded, his voice a low rumble, laced with a mixture of tenderness and determination. "You want answers, my dear wife?"
I nodded, the intensity of his presence drawing me closer, urging me to unravel the secrets that lay shrouded within the shadows. Moisture welled in my eyes, threatening to spill over as I awaited his response, my heart craving solace and understanding.
"The barrio," Denver began, his voice tinged with sorrow. "It was ruined and ravaged because of that bombing massacre. It is no longer a safe for anyone."
The weight of his words crashed upon me, a tidal wave of grief and despair washing over my shattered soul. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, their salty trails marking the path of my anguish. 
"Kian and Daniel, they're safe," Denver continued, his voice infused with a mix of relief and determination.
"Don't burden yourself with thoughts, Sharmienne. Your focus should be on your recovery," Denver advised, his voice filled with a tender concern that wrapped around me like a protective shield. 
I nodded, my eyes fixated on his face, unable to tear myself away from the familiar emotions that danced within his eyes. The ache of missing him coursed through my veins, overwhelming me with a bittersweet yearning that I struggled to put into words.
How could I face him after leaving him behind, tormenting his heart with my absence? Yet, here he was, tending to my needs with a selflessness. A subtle smirk graced his lips as he caught me gazing at him, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken emotions that enveloped us.
Without a word, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss upon my hand, his touch igniting a flicker of warmth within me. As he brought my hand to his face, he guided it gently, allowing me to caress his features, tracing the lines and contours that I knew so well.
I found myself unable to meet his gaze, my eyes tracing patterns upon the sheets that covered me. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I summoned the courage to voice my question, the weight of the passing days pressing upon me.
"How long... how many days have I been here?" I inquired, my voice barely a whisper.
His response was gentle. "You have been comatose for three weeks, my wife," he murmured.
"You don't understand, Sharmienne," Denver's voice wavered with a mix of anger and hurt as my words hung heavy in the air. The tension between us crackled like electricity, charging the atmosphere with unresolved emotions. His hand, once warm and comforting, stiffened beneath my touch, betraying the turmoil raging within him.
"I am mad," he admitted, his gaze piercing into mine with intensity. "Mad that you left without a trace, without a word of explanation. You confessed your love to me, and then the next thing I knew, you were gone. I returned home, expecting to find you there, but you had vanished. And all I was left with was the emptiness of your absence. Did you really think a phone call saying you love me and acting as if nothing's wrong would be enough? Is that how you wanted to say goodbye?"
My heart constricted at the anguish lacing his words, his pain laid bare before me. I had underestimated the impact of my departure, the depth of his emotions. Denver, the man who vowed to protect me, felt the weight of my actions like a betrayal, questioning his own worth in the process.
Tears welled up in my eyes, mirroring the sorrow that reflected in his bloodshot gaze. I reached out, my fingertips trembling as I brushed against his tear-stained cheek. How had I, in my own desperate attempt to shield him from danger, managed to inflict such pain upon the man I loved?
"I missed your birthday," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse and regret. "It's my fault. I hate myself for letting it slip away, for leaving you when you needed me most. I couldn't protect you when danger lurked at our doorstep. I'm sorry, my wife. I'm so sorry."
His eyes, once ablaze with anger, now swam with a mixture of sadness and vulnerability. I had never seen him so exposed, his guard shattered, revealing the depths of his love and the fragility of his heart.
Gently, I cradled his face in my hands, my touch a gentle balm against his turbulent emotions. It was a moment of profound realization, as I understood that my actions had wounded him deeply. But amidst the pain, there was an unspoken plea in his eyes, a yearning for understanding and for a chance to heal the rift that had formed between us.
"I want to tell you my reasons, Denver," I whispered, my voice trembling with sincerity. As I gazed into his stormy eyes, searching for forgiveness and a glimmer of hope, I realized that our journey was far from over. The weight of his plea, filled with vulnerability and desperation, hung heavy in the air.
"Don't leave me again like that, please," his voice cracked with raw emotion, his words a plea from the depths of his soul. "I'm begging you, wife. I promise to be better, to do better. Just don't leave me."
My heart ached at his vulnerability, the raw fear of losing me etched into every word he uttered. The magnitude of the pain I had inflicted on him weighed heavily on my conscience. His desperate request tore at the walls I had built around myself, exposing the depth of his love and the lengths he would go to keep me safe.
"D-Denver..." I stammered, my voice barely audible as tears welled up in my eyes. The tenderness in his eyes, the trembling vulnerability of his voice, it shattered the defenses I had. In that moment, I knew I couldn't deny him any longer.
"Call me with your endearment again," he implored, his voice laced with a mix of longing and uncertainty. "Prove to me that you love me. Don't avoid me. Promise me you won't make those choices again." His voice quivered, filled with a fear he could no longer suppress. "I can't bear to endure it if something happens to you like this again."
With a surge of determination, I removed my oxygen mask, casting it aside, and leaned forward to embrace him, seeking solace in his arms. His touch was a lifeline, grounding me in the reality of our love and the strength we possessed together.
"Don't beg like that, hubby," I whispered softly, my words carrying the weight of my commitment. I felt his breath hitch as he tightened his hold on me, as if afraid to let go. 
I shivered as his warm breath caressed the nape of my neck, sending electric tingles cascading down my spine. His lips, soft and tender, trailed a path of delicate kisses along the curve of my neck, each touch igniting a fire within me. The sensation was both intoxicating and exhilarating, his affectionate gestures stirring a whirlwind of emotions deep within my core.
His strong arms encircled my waist, pulling me closer, as if he couldn't bear an inch of space between us. I could feel the strength and protectiveness emanating from him. His touch, his fingertips lightly grazing my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
"I mean it when I say I love you," I whispered, my voice laced with sincerity and assurance. In that moment, my heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of affection, and I knew that my love for him was as genuine as the beating of my own heart.
His lips continued their mesmerizing dance, leaving a trail of kisses that stirred my senses. I surrendered to the blissful sensations, allowing myself to be consumed by the intoxicating connection we shared. Each delicate caress of his lips against mine spoke volumes, affirming our unbreakable bond in a world riddled with uncertainty.