Roy's POV
The night after Ann's rejection, I barely slept. Her words echoed in my mind, not as daggers but as lessons: Love isn't about choosing the easiest path. It's about standing by someone when the world falls apart.
I had never seen loyalty like that. Most people, when faced with tragedy, step back. They want comfort, stability, a life unburdened by suffering. But Ann? She had looked at me with fire in her eyes and said she would never leave Dennis.
It stirred something inside me— not just heartbreak, but respect.
The next morning, I found myself restless, pacing my apartment. My heart still hurt, but beneath the ache was a strange pull: curiosity. Who was this man who had inspired such unwavering devotion? Who was Dennis, that Ann would tie her future to him despite his brokenness?
By noon, I could no longer resist. I asked around quietly, and it didn't take much— everyone knew about the accident. Everyone knew about the stroke, the hospital, the fiancé who hovered like a shadow at Ann's side.
And so, with hands clammy and heart uncertain, I walked into the rehabilitation ward that evening.
The air smelled of antiseptic, faintly metallic, layered with the soft groans and murmurs of patients. The walls were pale, and the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Each step I took made me question my sanity.
What am I doing here?
Yet when I reached the door and saw him— Dennis Carter— I understood.
He sat propped up on the hospital bed, thin but sharp-eyed, his left side unmoving, his right hand gripping the rail. His face was pale, etched with both exhaustion and pride. There was pain there, yes, but also a presence that commanded attention.
I inhaled slowly and stepped inside.
Another day, another failure.
The therapists had tried again— lifting, pulling, asking me to will my left leg to move. Nothing. My body remained a traitor. Each session left me drenched in sweat, not from exertion but from rage.
When Ann left for her classes, I told myself I'd be strong, that I'd surprise her with progress. But here I was, the same broken shell.
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To vanish.
Instead, I lay staring at the ceiling, caught in the cruel rhythm of machines, when the door creaked open.
At first, I thought it was Ann. My heart lifted, but it wasn't her.
A stranger walked in— a tall man, neatly dressed, his eyes carrying something heavy. He hesitated, then gave a small nod.
"Dennis?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Yes… who are you?" My voice was rough, guarded.
He stepped closer, not flinching. "My name is Roy Thomas. I… work with Ann."
Ann.
The name rolled in my chest like fire. I studied him, suspicion prickling. Why was he here? What did he want with me?
"What are you doing here?" I asked, harsher than I intended.
He swallowed, then spoke steadily. "I came to see you. To understand. To… say something that might matter."
I laughed bitterly. "Understand? Look at me. Half a man, stuck in a bed. You've seen enough."
But he didn't flinch. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat.
"No," he said firmly. "I came to understand why Ann loves you this much."
The words struck me like a blow.
Roy's POV
He glared at me, his jaw tightening, eyes blazing with both pride and pain.
"She told you about me?" he asked slowly.
"Yes," I admitted. "She told me she was yours. That her heart would never belong to anyone else. She made it clear."
He turned his face away, the muscles of his jaw twitching.
For a moment, silence hung thick between us. I could hear the faint beeping of the monitor, the shuffling of nurses outside. And then he muttered, bitter and low:
"She deserves more than this. More than me."
I leaned forward, my voice steady. "Maybe. But she doesn't want more. She wants you."
He looked back at me sharply, as though I had spoken blasphemy.
"I've seen her," I continued, the words pouring out. "At work, in the classroom, in the corridors. She carries you with her everywhere. Do you know that? She teaches with fire, but behind her eyes there's always one thought— you. She refused me, Dennis. Not out of duty, not out of pity. Out of love. The kind of love people like me can only dream of."
Dennis's POV
His words cut deep.
I wanted to dismiss him, to call him a liar, to shut my ears. But something in his tone— earnest, raw— told me he spoke the truth.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked quietly.
"Because," he said, leaning forward, "you keep pushing her away. I can see it in her eyes. She tells me you think you'll ruin her life. That you want her to move on. But listen to me, Dennis— Ann doesn't need freedom. She needs you to fight. She needs you to believe you're worth it."
I felt my throat tighten. Anger, shame, hope— all colliding in a storm.
I slammed my fist weakly against the bedrail. "I can't even walk! I can't hold her the way she deserves. I can't dance with her at the wedding she dreamed of. I can't—"
"Stop." His voice was sharp, cutting.
I froze, stunned by the authority in his tone.
"You think love is measured by steps on a dance floor? By perfect moments? No, Dennis. Love is measured by endurance. By staying. And she has already chosen to stay. You're the only one who hasn't."
The words hit me harder than any doctor's verdict, any therapist's disappointment.
For the first time in weeks, I felt something shift inside me— not in my body, but in my heart.
Roy's POV
He was trembling, his eyes glassy with a mix of rage and sorrow. I wanted to reach out, but I stayed still, giving him space.
"Dennis," I said more gently now, "I came here because I had to see it for myself. Why she loves you. And I see it now. Even like this, broken and angry— you carry something powerful. Something rare. You make her fight harder, live braver. Don't rob her of that by giving up."
His lips trembled, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then he whispered, hoarse, "Why would you— of all people— tell me this?"
I smiled faintly, though it hurt. "Because I love her too. And if I can't be the man she chooses, then at least I can make sure the man she chose doesn't let her down."
Ann's POV
When I walked into the room that evening, the last thing I expected was to see Roy sitting beside Dennis's bed.
They both turned toward me— Dennis with wide, shaken eyes, Roy with a calm, bittersweet smile.
"Ann," Roy said softly, standing. "I just came to say a few words."
I looked between them, uncertain. "You… you two spoke?"
Dennis's voice was raw, trembling. "Yes. He told me something I needed to hear."
Roy nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat. "Take care of him, Ann. And Dennis— take care of her. She's stronger than she knows, but even the strongest need someone who won't let go."
And with that, he left the room, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
I turned to Dennis, my heart racing. He looked at me with a softness I hadn't seen in weeks, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Ann," he whispered, his voice breaking, "I… I don't deserve you."
I moved to his side, taking his hand firmly. "Stop saying that. You're mine, Dennis. And I'll fight every day to remind you."
For the first time, he didn't argue. Instead, he held my hand tighter, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.
The hospital ward, usually sterile and cold, seemed transformed that night. For Dennis, something had shifted. The despair was still there, the paralysis still unyielding— but within the cracks of his brokenness, a new light had seeped in.
It had come not from Ann, nor from family, nor from doctors. But from Roy— the man who had once wanted her.
Sometimes, love's fiercest defenders are not the ones who win it, but the ones who step aside, carrying their own heartbreak, to strengthen it.
And as Dennis closed his eyes that night, Ann's hand entwined in his, he felt—f or the first time since the accident— that maybe, just maybe, he could still fight.