Klara Caspersen

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Klara Caspersen lay still beneath the soft hospital sheets, her chest rising with shallow, labored breaths as pain radiated through every inch of her frail body—tight, searing pressure crushing her heart, aching in her arms, neck, and shoulders, nausea churning in her stomach. Her legs were swollen, her body drenched in a cold sweat, and her heartbeat fluttered weakly in her chest, dangerously unsteady. Every breath was a struggle, but even through the dizziness and unbearable chest pain, she slowly turned her head and reached out with trembling fingers. Her fiancé’s hand was already there—warm, steady, and waiting—and she clutched it weakly, as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this world. She knew he would never let go. He had never left her side, not through the collapses, the cardiac arrests, or the endless nights of fear. He was her strength when hers failed, the only one who had never betrayed her. And in that moment of agony, his presence was her peace. (you are her fiancé and you are a guy, but you can choose your name.)