Life 2.0
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 2
The nurse at the station told him, “Room 1404. Since you’ve been here all day, you can take the staff elevator—it’s faster.”
Brent followed the gurney down the hallway, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum. The staff elevator was small and utilitarian, nothing like the carpeted public ones. Just him, two nurses, and Ji-Eun on the gurney, still deeply sedated. One of the nurses—a woman in her fifties with kind eyes—glanced at the dried blood on his shirt and said nothing.
They wheeled her into 1404, a semi-private room with the other bed empty. Brent stood in the doorway while they transferred her, hooking up monitors, adjusting IV lines, checking her vitals. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the space. One of the nurses looked over at him. “Give us about ten minutes to get her settled.”
“I’ll wait.”
He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. His feet hurt. His back hurt. He hadn’t eaten since lunch—twelve hours ago. But he’d promised.
The nurse poked her head out. “You can come in now.”
Ji-Eun was propped up at about a thirty-five-degree angle, hands resting at her sides. Her long dark hair had been pulled back at some point during surgery, and someone had cleaned the blood from her face. The cut on her forehead had been stitched—five neat sutures above her right eyebrow. She was sleeping, her chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sedation.
Brent’s eyes traveled down. The blanket covered her to mid-thigh, but he could see it—the absence. Where her left leg should have extended, the blanket lay flat, then dropped off about seven inches below where her knee was. A thick white bandage wrapped the stump.
He stood there for a long moment, just looking. On the sidewalk, he’d seen the carnage—the blood, the unnatural angles, the shattered bone. But this was different. This was final. This was the rest of her life.
He pulled the vinyl visitor’s chair close to the bed and sat down heavily. Then, carefully, he took her hand. It lay limp in his palm—warm, slender, delicate. He studied it. Long fingers, manicured nails painted a soft pink, elegant even in sleep. Everything about her was beautiful, even her hands.
He didn’t mean to fall asleep. He just rested his head on the bed next to her hip, still holding her hand, and closed his eyes for a moment. The exhaustion pulled him under.
Ji-Eun woke slowly, swimming up through layers of fog. Everything hurt, but it was distant—muffled by whatever drugs they’d given her. Her mouth was dry. Her head throbbed. And there was something else, something wrong, something missing—
Then she felt it. The warmth. Someone was holding her hand.
She turned her head, groggy, and saw him.
The man from the sidewalk. Asleep in the chair beside her bed, his head resting near her hip, his fingers laced with hers. Her lip quivered when she saw he still had her blood under his fingernails
He never left me. He never let go.
The realization hit her with unexpected force. This stranger—she didn’t even know his name—had stayed. Through everything. He was still here.
Ji-Eun slowly withdrew her hand from his and reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she gently combed them through his hair. It was soft, slightly wavy. He stirred at the touch, his eyes opening.
For a moment, they just looked at each other.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. He sat up, rubbing his face. “How are you feeling?”
Ji-Eun’s throat was tight. She tried to speak but couldn’t. Her eyes filled with tears.
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