Niamh reached for her phone, ready to call an ambulance.
She could drive Jonathan to the hospital herself, but an ambulance would have emergency equipment—things that might just save his life.
“Don’t go…”
Jonathan’s hand clamped tightly around her wrist, so hard she had to grit her teeth against the pain.
She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her.
He was like a drowning man clutching at the only lifeline he could find.
His eyes were unfocused; Niamh couldn’t even be sure he recognized her.
“Don’t go…” he whispered again.
His grip was iron-strong, but his voice was barely there, thin as a breath of air.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, each drop large and cold, sliding down his ashen face.
“Elmer, help me!”
It was only when Niamh called out that Elmer finally moved, hurrying over to steady Jonathan, who was on the verge of collapsing.
A few seconds earlier, as Jonathan started to faint, Elmer had reached out—perhaps to pull Niamh away—but his hand missed. He could only watch as Niamh caught Jonathan just in time.
Elmer wanted to trust her.
He wanted to believe Niamh no longer loved Jonathan.
He could see Jonathan was in real danger.
No matter if it was her husband, her ex, or a complete stranger—if someone was coughing up blood in public like this, Niamh would never just stand by. That’s who she was: kind to her core.
Rationally, Elmer understood that and even admired her compassion.
But in his heart, he wished—just for a moment—that when Jonathan collapsed, Niamh would have stood back and done nothing.
Even if it meant Jonathan died from his stomach bleeding out…
He knew how cold that sounded.
But he couldn’t help it.
Watching Niamh so worried for Jonathan—he simply couldn’t stay unaffected.
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