As they worked, Leo grabbed Meredith's wrist. "Don't let me die before I tell her I'm sorry."

But Leo wasn't a distraction. He was a boy who rode his motorcycle in the rain to apologize to the woman he loved. And that wasn't weakness. That was guts.

"He left because I said I needed space," Elena whispered. "I didn't mean it. I was scared. We're getting married in June, and I thought… what if I'm not enough?"

"BP stabilizing," Meredith said.

The man on the gurney was young, maybe twenty-four. His name was Leo. His left leg was twisted at an angle that made Meredith's own knee ache. Blood matted his hair, but his eyes were open—panicked, searching.

Six hours later, Leo was out of surgery, intubated but stable. Elena was allowed in for five minutes. She kissed his forehead, her tears falling onto his cheeks.

Izzie didn't answer. She just held her hand.

"Not stupid," Meredith said softly. "Romantic. Painfully romantic."