The hospital corridor buzzed under harsh fluorescent lights.
Wet, breathless, the groom slammed through a blue door marked 214.
Inside—silence.
A woman lay in a hospital bed, fragile, bruised arms barely moving. Machines beeped in unstable rhythm. An oxygen tube traced her shallow breath.
The groom froze.
“Don’t let them take her…” she whispered weakly, eyes barely open.
Footsteps approached from the hallway.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A shadow crossed the doorway.
The groom stepped forward instinctively, shielding the bed.
The door handle turned.
Creak.
Then—
A little girl appeared, clutching the torn photograph tightly against her chest.
Her eyes locked on his.
Three worlds collided in one frozen second.
The groom stood between them… torn, shaking, unable to move.
The light flickered.
And everything cut to black.
