Her words lingered in the air, weighty and impossible. I turned my head slightly, trying to make out her shape through the fog of my broken sight.
“You don’t know me,” she continued, “but I’ve been watching you for weeks.”
I stiffened. That sounded more ominous than comforting.
“I mean no harm,” she added gently. “I’m a medical student. My mentor is a retired neuro-ophthalmologist—he used to work on experimental therapies that never made it to the public. But I’ve seen them work… I believe they could work for you.”
I swallowed hard. “Why are you telling me this?”
The girl hesitated. “Because I know your wife hasn’t been honest with you.”
My stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”
“She’s not on the phone when she leaves you here. She meets a man. He’s younger. They talk, they laugh. Sometimes they kiss. I didn’t want to say it, but I thought you deserved to know.”
My heart thudded. I felt like the air had been punched out of my lungs.
“And your condition,” she continued, “isn’t irreversible. It’s optic neuropathy—early stages. With treatment, your sight might return.”
I didn’t know what to say. Everything inside me was reeling.
She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hand. “This is the name and number of my mentor. He agreed to meet you for free. No cameras, no bureaucracy. Just one shot.”
Then she stood and walked away, her footsteps fading as if she’d never been there at all.
That evening, when my wife returned, I didn’t ask her about the phone call. I didn’t need to—not yet. I simply said I was tired. But inside, I was awake—more awake than I’d been in months.
That girl… she cracked open something that had long been closed. Maybe the world hadn’t gone dark forever.
Maybe I was about to open my eyes again—and see everything.