The beeping woke him. A hospital bed. All alone. He couldn’t remember how he got here. Or who he was. He checked his phone. No messages. No missed calls. Nobody cared. He opened his photos. Still hooked to the IV. And there she was. Smiling. And then it came back— The divorce. The yelling. At his wife. At his daughter. At the world for not being easier. Then at his boss, after getting fired. At the landlord, for the eviction notice. At himself. In the mirror. Drunk. Slurring— "You’re a bastard." He remembered the crash. It should’ve killed him. Maybe it did. The him that hated everything. He couldn’t remember why he’d been so angry. Why he hated...himself. But he remembered them. Her. Both of them. He scrolled through his contacts. Found “That Bitch.” Winced. Renamed it: "Pretty Smile", And called. She answered, already tired. “What do you want!?” He paused. Then softly— “Your voice is pretty too.” Silence. But he heard it. He knew that smile. “Can I...see her again?” She waited. Then said: “She wants to see you too. Start there.”
