Chapter 110
Sierra.
I hear my name being called, the voice slipping through the edges of my consciousness. There are noises in the background, muffled and distant, like I’m underwater and the world above is just out of reach.
Someone says my name again, but cracking my eyes open feels impossible. Every sound feels muted and drowned out. I can sense movement around me, but none of it registers through my foggy mind. Everything feels strange, like I’m drifting through a dream I can’t quite wake from.
Finally, I manage to pry my eyes open, though it takes everything in me. My eyelids feel heavy, and the room spins in slow, dizzy circles.
“Are you with us, Sierra?” an unfamiliar soft voice asks.
I want to answer, to ask who she is, where I am, and what’s happening, but my tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. I can’t move it; can’t even form a word. So, I just lie there, sinking deeper into the haze, my body leaden, my mind spinning in and out of consciousness. Maybe if I just sleep a little more, everything will make sense when I wake up.
I’m about to let the darkness pull me back under when another voice cuts through. This one gentle and familiar.
“Sierra p>
That can’t be right. For a moment, I swear I hear Noah.
“Sir, you shouldn’t be in here,” another voice says. Sharp, but distant, like it’s echoing through water.
I try reaching out to him, but eventually I give up when I feel nothing but air. Noah hates me, so it’s impossible he would be here. I must be hallucinating. That’s the only explanation.
The spinning starts again, and I start to feel like I’m falling. This time I don’t fight the feeling; instead, I embrace it and let myself fall until everything fades into darkness.
The next time I wake, everything is quiet, except for the beeping of machines. My throat feels dry and raw, and there’s a dull ache through my body. I blink, slow and sluggish, until the blurriness clears just enough for me to see the faint outline of my mom sitting beside me.
Her head is resting on the edge of my bed, her hand clutching mine like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her hair is messy, with strands falling out of her ponytail, and her face is pale and streaked with dried tears.
“Mom…” My voice comes out cracked and hoarse.
Her head snaps up instantly, eyes wide and wet. “Sierra p>
I try to smile, but my lips tremble instead. “Hey p>
“Oh, baby…” She covers her mouth with her hand as tears spill again, her shoulders shaking with relief. “You’re awake… thank God, you’re awake p>
She leans forward, pressing trembling kisses to my forehead, my cheeks, and hair while she sobs. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was p>
I’m about to ask her what happened, but then everything hits me all at once… The accident.
“My–my baby,” I rasp, my voice thick, foreign, like it hasn’t been used in forever.
Her tears stop for half a second, her eyes searching mine. “The baby’s fine,” she says quickly, squeezing my hand. “The doctors said there wasn’t any harm. You both made it out okay p>
Tears slip down before I can stop them as the memories flood in… The screeching tires, the blinding impact, the way my only thought in that split second was my baby.
I remember curling around my stomach, praying, begging God not to take my child. The last thing I remember before everything went black was that he had to survive.
“I thought…” My voice cracks. “I’d killed my baby, Mom. I thought he wouldn’t survive p>
Her face crumples as she gathers me carefully into her arms, mindful of the tubes and wires. “Don’t you ever say that again,” she whispers fiercely. “You hear me? Don’t you dare p>
I nod against her shoulder, tears sliding silently down my cheeks. The memories keep flooding in. The brakes failing, the world spinning, the sound of glass shattering. The panic. The helplessness.
“I was so scared,” I choke out. “I couldn’t stop the car… I tried, but I couldn’t p>
“Shhh, it’s over,” she murmurs, stroking my hair. “You’re safe now. You and the baby are both safe p>
“Are you sure?” My voice shakes, fear lacing through every word. What if she’s only saying that to calm me?
Her smile wobbles through her tears. “As sure as my heart beats. Would I lie to you about this p>
I shake my head weakly. She wouldn’t. Not about something like this.
A heavy breath leaves me. The relief that floods me is so deep it almost hurts. Almost as if a heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I sink back against the bed, the tension draining from my body. Instinctively I move my hands toward my belly, needing to feel the reassurance for myself, but stop when I feel the weight around my wrist. I frown, lifting my hand, only to find it wrapped in a cast.
Mom notices. “The doctor said you broke your hand. You’ll need to keep it in a cast for a few weeks p>
I remember when I wrapped my arm across my stomach, hoping I could shield my baby from the worst of the impact. That must be how I broke it.
“That explains the earth–shattering pain,” I murmur to myself. “Turns out it was my hand shattering… Literally p>
A weak chuckle escapes me before I can help it.
Mom glares through tears. “I don’t know what you find funny about it. You scared me half to death p>
All humor vanishes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to p>
“I know, sweetie,” she says softly, her voice cracking as tears spill freely now. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You’re all I have left p>
My chest aches at her words. When Grandma died, it became just the two of us. And even though a new life is growing inside me now, I understand what she means. I’m her whole world, just as she’s mine p>
With my good hand, I reach up and wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere, Mom,” I whisper, giving her a small, tired smile. “I’ll be with you for a long time to come, and so will your grandbaby p>
She gives me a small smile, while we continue holding each other as if one of us will disappear if we don’t. I don’t want to, but soon I start feeling drowsy and before I know it, I fall back asleep.