The sound of chaos filled the emergency room—shoes sliding against the floor, orders shouted, the rhythmic beeping of machines battling silence.
Yet for Oska, there was only one sound that mattered.
The faint, fragile rhythm of life that still pulsed inside the woman on the bed.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside before anyone could stop him.
Doctors turned in surprise, but he didn't see them. His eyes locked on a single figure beneath the harsh fluorescent light—
Stevanie.

Even with tubes running from her nose and mouth, her beauty was disarming.
Her lips were pale, her hair damp with sweat, but to him she was still the same woman who had once smiled like the world belonged to her.

"Sir, you can't be here!" a nurse shouted, trying to block his path.

Oska didn't even hear her.
He took another step forward, voice trembling.
"Is she alive?"

The nurse froze at the sound of his voice, then nodded quickly.
"Yes, but she's in critical condition. Please, sir, you need to step outside—you're disturbing the team."

Those words broke him open.

Alive.

His knees gave way as he collapsed beside the bed.
He reached for her hand—it was warm.
Warm and real.

He bowed his head, tears spilling freely, his shoulders shaking.
"Thank God… thank God…" he whispered again and again, each word more broken than the last.
It felt as if life itself had been breathed back into him.

"How… how did she survive?" he asked through his sobs.

The nurse paused, her expression softening.
"She was very lucky," she said. "The knife missed her heart—by just a few centimeters. If the wound had been any deeper, she wouldn't have made it."

Oska froze.
Her words hit him like a memory.

He remembered that moment—the knife in her hand, the struggle, the desperate attempt to stop her. He remembered how he had grabbed the blade, forcing it away from her chest.
It had been pure instinct, but that mistake… that misdirected thrust… had saved her life.

A wave of disbelief and relief washed over him.
For the first time since that night, he didn't feel like a murderer.
He had saved her—if only barely.

"Sir," the nurse said, drawing his attention. "Who are you to the patient?"

Oska wiped his tears and lifted his head.
"I'm her husband."

The nurse blinked, momentarily surprised, then nodded.
"Then please, wait outside. You can see her once we stabilize her condition. Right now, you'll only make things harder for her."

Before Oska could respond, Mr. Han was already beside him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on," he said softly. "Let's wait outside."

"B-but Mr. Han, she's alive. Can't you see?"

"I know, that's why we have to leave before our presence makes it worse."

Oska didn't move. His eyes refused to leave Stevanie.
Then another hand grabbed his arm—a small, trembling hand.

He turned.
"Annchi…? I didn't see you there."

She stood there, eyes red and swollen, tears still streaking her cheeks. Without a word, she tugged at his sleeve.
"I've been standing at the door this whole time. You just didn't notice me. Please, Uncle, let's wait outside with me."

He hesitated—then finally gave in.
Together, Annchi and Mr. Han guided him out of the room.

Outside, the sound of the rain had softened to a gentle whisper.
Oska stood by the door, drenched, trembling, his eyes fixed on the small window where doctors worked behind the glass.

Mr. Han watched him quietly. The young man's face looked different now—no longer hollow and dead, but alive again, burning faintly with something like hope.

The older man smiled faintly.
"See?" he said softly. "You don't have to punish yourself anymore. You saved her. Now… all we can do is pray that she makes it through."

Oska didn't answer. He just nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving the door.

"Come," Mr. Han said gently. "Let's get some food. You haven't eaten in—"

"I'm not leaving," Oska interrupted.
His tone was calm, but final.
"I'll stay here. Until she wakes up."

Mr. Han wanted to protest, but stopped when he saw the look in Oska's eyes—like a man guarding treasure, or perhaps redemption itself.

"Fine, come on Annchi. Let's eat." Mr. Han carried the little girl, "I'll bring you a little dinner, you have to eat too, Oska."

And so Oska stayed.

Three days passed.
Stevanie remained unconscious, her body motionless beneath the thin white sheet.
The tubes and wires that once covered her had been removed one by one, until only the faint rhythm of her heartbeat filled the room.

And Oska never left the door.
He didn't eat.
He didn't sleep.
He didn't speak.

Every few hours, Mr. Han would bring him food or coffee, only to find it untouched.
Oska sat in the same chair, motionless, waiting.

On the third night, when the oxygen tube was finally removed, Oska felt a strange calm settle over him.
For the first time, her breathing was natural—soft, even.

"She's getting better," Mr. Han said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
But Oska didn't answer. His eyes were glassy with relief, his body trembling as though afraid to believe it.

That night, Mr. Han brought him a cup of warm tea.
"You're overdoing this," he said gently. "Go home Oska. She'll be fine. You make yourself sick."

"No, until I see her open her eyes again, I won't be at peace. I have to be the first person she sees when she wakes up."

Suddenly the sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed down the hall.
They turned.

A woman was approaching—young, elegant, dressed in a white coat, her glasses gleaming beneath the corridor lights. Her steps were precise, composed.

"Mr. Oska?" she said, stopping before them.

He stood up instinctively. "Yes?"

"I need you to come with me."

Mr. Han looked up in recognition.
"Ah… you're Dr. Lian, it's been a while. Nice to see you doctor."

Dr. Lian nodded. "You're Stevanie's husband, right? There are things we need to discuss, Mr. Oska. About her condition—and about you."

Oska frowned slightly. "Can't it wait? I don't want to leave her."

Mr. Han placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Go," he said softly. "She 's the psychiatrist who has been treating Stevanie all this time. I'm sure she has something important to tell you."

Oska hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
He turned one last time toward the door—toward the sleeping woman inside.

"Wait for me," he whispered under his breath.
And with that, he followed Dr. Lian down the silent corridor.