A faint movement stopped her breath. His hand — the same hand she had held for years — twitched against her wrist.
Then, slowly, his fingers closed around hers.
Two blue eyes met hers, disoriented but unmistakably alive.
“What… are you doing?” His voice was raspy, uncertain, like the sound of wind returning to an empty room.
Emma covered her mouth, shaking. “You’re awake,” she whispered. “Oh my God… you’re awake.”
He blinked, trying to focus. “How long…?”
“Three years,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks.
He stared at her — not with confusion, but with quiet wonder. “You’ve been here all that time.”
Emma nodded, unable to speak.
Then, slowly, a faint smile appeared on his lips. “Then I guess I owe you my life.”
