CHAPTER 153: YOU WERE NEVER LOST

The soft beep of the heart monitor marked time like a metronome—steady, patient, unbothered by the storm in Artur’s chest.

The room itself was warm but dim. Shadows of the city lights flickered faintly on the wall, sneaking in through the blinds.

Billy remained motionless.

Artur leaned back slightly in the chair, his hand still resting gently over Billy’s.

His thumb moved, slowly brushing across his knuckles in a soft rhythm—like a silent promise. Like a memory of comfort.

He stared at Billy’s face.

"Do you remember the tree?" he said. "That night... when you said you wished to never feel lost again."

His voice was quiet. Steady now. A little heavier than before.

"I was the one who felt lost after you left."

He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees.

"I tried pretending I was okay. I even laughed like nothing happened. But when I went back to the lake alone... the wind didn’t sound the same. The tree didn’t look as tall. Nothing did."

His fingers tightened just a little.

"I miss you," he whispered. "Even when I close my eyes, I see you smiling in the kitchen, wiping flour off your nose... or racing me down the hill like a child.You made the world feel lighter."

The silence answered back with its usual stillness.

Artur looked down.

"I’m sorry I let you go."

His voice caught there—but this time, he didn’t wipe his tears away. He let them fall.

"You told me once... home is where you feel understood. Not just safe—but seen. You made the village that for me. And I hope I made it for you."

He glanced toward the window, where the last of the sun dipped behind the city skyline.

"You don’t have to come back to who you were, Billy. I’ll still be here, waiting for the person you are now."

Artur reached into his jacket and pulled something from his pocket—a folded paper.

Carefully, He smoothed it gently on the table beside the hospital bed.

The sketch—slightly smudged from age—still held the lake’s soft curve, the tall tree’s crooked shadow, and Billy beneath it, smiling.

A place where they had once both been whole. And Billy sitting beneath it, smiling faintly.

In tiny, careful handwriting below it:

"You were never lost. Just waiting to be found."

Artur looked at Billy one last time. Then leaned closer and whispered, "I’ll be here when you open your eyes."

Then he sat back, never letting go of his hand, and let the night fall around them in still silence.

The door creaked open gently.

Camila peeked her head in, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey... sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt."

Artur turned his head slowly.

His eyes were red—but calm now. There was no panic in his expression, just something quiet and heavy, like someone still in the middle of holding their breath.

Camila stepped inside fully, closing the door softly behind her. She didn’t speak right away. Her gaze moved to Billy, then to the drawing on the table, then to where Artur still held his hand.

"He looks peaceful," she said gently, walking to the other side of the bed. "Like he’s just... somewhere close. Not far."

Artur nodded faintly.

"It feels like if I talk too loud, I’ll wake him."

Camila gave a soft smile. "You wouldn’t mind, though. Would you?"

"No," Artur whispered, barely audible. "Not at all."

She reached across and adjusted Billy’s blanket, smoothing a wrinkle near his shoulder.

"He talks about you, you know?" she said. "Even when he couldn’t remember much. Not with names—but with feeling. That kind of memory doesn’t fade."

Artur swallowed hard, lowering his gaze.

"I’m glad he had you. While he was here."

Camila’s voice softened further. "And now I’m glad he has you here. With him. Tonight."

Artur blinked, his hand tightening just slightly around Billy’s.

"Do you think... he knows I’m here?"

Camila looked at her brother for a long moment. Then she nodded, sure and steady.

"Yes. I do."

A silence settled again—but it felt a little lighter than before.

She glanced toward the small clock on the wall. "It’s getting late."

Artur didn’t move. "I can stay."

Camila hesitated. Then smiled again.

"I was hoping you’d say that."

She crossed to the other chair and pulled it gently to Billy’s other side, sitting down. She folded her arms on the edge of the bed, resting her chin there.

"I’ve been waiting four days. I can wait a little longer."

Artur looked across at her. Their eyes met for the first time with a real sense of understanding.

And then—side by side, one on each side of the boy they both cared for—the two of them settled in.

No words. No tears.

Just hope.

And love.

And the quiet sound of a monitor blinking in rhythm with a heart that still held on.

The first light of morning slipped through the blinds in thin golden streaks, brushing across the pale walls of the hospital room.

The monitor beeped softly, still steady, still patient.

Camila stirred first—her head resting on folded arms beside Billy’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open, lids heavy from a restless sleep.

She blinked slowly, trying to find the shape of the morning through the haze of exhaustion.

Then she sat up, rubbed the back of her neck, and looked toward her brother’s face.

Unmoving. Silent. But breathing.

But still breathing.

Her eyes softened. "Good morning,""Her voice rasped, raw with sleep."

Across from her, Artur was still there, still sitting exactly where he’d been, his hand in Billy’s. He hadn’t slept. Not really. But his eyes were open now, faintly shadowed beneath, a quiet tiredness swimming inside them.

"Did you sleep at all?" Camila asked gently.

Artur shook his head slowly. "Didn’t want to."

Camila looked down at Billy again.

"Fifth day..." she murmured. Her hand reached out automatically, brushing lightly over her brother’s wrist. "Still with us."

Artur nodded, but didn’t say anything.

The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was full—but calm. Like two people keeping watch over a flickering flame they refused to let die.

Camila reached over to pour a little water into a cup, then handed it to Artur.

He hesitated, then took it with a faint nod of gratitude.

"You know..." she said softly, settling back into her chair, "He’s stubborn. Just like Dad. If he’s taking his time, it’s probably because he wants the moment to be dramatic."

Artur huffed a short breath—part laugh, part ache.

"Sounds like him."

They sat like that, letting the sun stretch longer across the floor. The room warming bit by bit, chasing away the night.

Still, Billy didn’t stir.

But something in the room had shifted again—gently. Quietly.

Not hopeless. Just waiting.

And both of them... would wait.

The door opened softly, and the faint scent of her perfume entered first—subtle, familiar.

Mrs. Sandoval stepped in, holding a small flask of soup wrapped in a kitchen towel. Her eyes fell first on Billy, then shifted toward the others—and halted.

Her gaze froze on Artur.

He stood slowly, almost unsure if he should. The moment stretched—thick with surprise, memory, and something unspoken.

"Artur," she said softly, carefully. "You’re here."

He nodded, straightening, eyes slightly downcast out of respect.

"Yes, ma’am. I—I came as soon as I heard. I didn’t want to disturb anyone."

Camila stood as well, glancing between them but staying quiet.

Mrs. Sandoval walked forward, her expression unreadable at first. She looked at Billy for a long, silent moment—his still face, his chest rising and falling steadily.

Then she looked back at Artur.

"You were with him," she said quietly. "All those months. You saw sides of him we didn’t. You’re not a disturbance, Artur. You’re part of his story now."

Artur’s shoulders relaxed just slightly. A flicker of relief crossed his face—but there was still caution in his eyes.

His breath caught. The ache of uncertainty pressed harder than he expected.

"I wasn’t sure if... if it was okay to be here."

She stepped a little closer, placing the soup on the side table. Her voice dropped to a warmer, gentler tone.

"If he could see you sitting here... he’d probably smile."

That made Artur look down for a second—eyes soft.

"He carried you in quiet ways," she continued. "Not always in words, but in the way his eyes would follow the door... just in case."

But I saw it. Every time he stood by that window waiting. Or when he’d go quiet after his phone buzzed."

Artur swallowed hard, his hands clasped in front of him.

"I didn’t want to say goodbye the way I did."

Mrs. Sandoval’s expression softened. "None of this was easy. For anyone."

She paused—then stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his arm.

"But you’re here now. That counts for something."

The room was quiet again—no tension. Just a woman who knew pain, and a young man who’d walked through it beside her son.

Camila gave them space, stepping over to the window, letting the moment be theirs.

Mrs. Sandoval turned back toward the bed, brushing a hand over Billy’s blanket.

"He’s always been brave. Even now. And I think he kept holding on... because part of him knew someone he loves would come back."

She glanced at Artur once more and gave a small nod.

"So stay, Artur. If that’s what your heart wants. We’re not strangers anymore."

Artur didn’t trust himself to speak—he simply nodded, eyes shimmering faintly.

Mrs. Sandoval stood quietly beside the bed, smoothing a crease on Billy’s blanket. Her eyes lingered on her son, searching for something—maybe just willing him to wake.

Then, without turning, she spoke again—her voice low, even.

"I didn’t know what to expect when I walked in. But I’m glad it was you."

Artur, still standing a few feet away, lowered his eyes respectfully.

"I wasn’t sure if I should come."

She turned now, meeting his gaze fully.

"You’re here. That’s what matters."

A pause.

"I don’t need to know every detail between you two. But I can see it in the way you sit beside him."

Artur’s throat worked. His voice came quietly.

"He changed my life. Even when I didn’t know I needed it."

Mrs. Sandoval nodded.

"Then you understand what he means to us."

Her hand rested lightly over Billy’s.

"I’ve spent years trying to guide him... maybe too much. But now, I just want him to wake up and feel safe. That’s all."

She looked up again, softer now.

"So if being here gives him even a sliver of peace... stay."

Artur blinked, then nodded—nothing more. Nothing needed.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She offered the faintest smile. One only a mother could give.

"Take care of him."

She touched Camila’s shoulder gently and turned without another word, her footsteps fading into the corridor—leaving behind the fragile hush of love that hadn’t let go.