Chapter 368
LILLY.
Sierra lies on the bed, so still that I have to keep checking the monitors to make sure she’s still with us. The machines are back in place, the wires reattached, everything functioning the way it should but none of it feels right. Nothing about this feels right.
Aunt Ivy and I have been here the entire time. Noah hasn’t been back since yesterday and the rest came and went.
To be honest I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore.
I just know that what we witnessed was gut-wrenching; it almost felt like my heart was being torn and I don’t think any of us are ready to go through something like that again.
A small movement pulls my attention back to the bed.
Sierra’s fingers twitch and my breath catches immediately. I straighten without even realizing it. My finger is on the call button as if my body is preparing for another fight.
Aunt Ivy leans forward. “Sierra?” she calls softly.
Slowly, Sierra’s eyes begin to open and for a second, it’s the same as before; Confusion and disorientation.
Her gaze drifts across the room, unfocused, trying to make sense of where she is, but this time, something is different.
There’s no panic, no sudden movement, no frantic searching. She just looks. Her eyes settle on the ceiling, and she stays there, staring at it as though she’s trying to find something in it.
“Sierra?” her mom tries again, her voice gentler this time, more cautious.
There’s nothing. No response, not even a glance.
My stomach drops at the sight, unease settling deep in my chest.
“Sierra, sweetheart… how are you feeling?” her mom asks, squeezing her hand slightly.
Still nothing… Sierra doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t acknowledge her presence, doesn’t even blink or react in any way. It’s like she doesn’t even hear her.
A cold feeling spreads through me and I take a step closer, my eyes fixed on her face, searching desperately for something—anything—that tells me she’s still with us.
“Sierra?” I say softly.
Her chest rises and falls steadily, her breathing calm, her eyes still locked on the ceiling. But that’s all there is. There’s no reaction, no recognition, no emotion, nothing that shows she’s aware of us at all.
It’s like she’s there physically but mentally she’s checked out.
“She’s not responding,” I whisper, my voice tight.
Aunt Ivy shakes her head slightly, brushing her thumb over Sierra’s hand.
“She’s just tired. She’s been through a lot,” she says, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice.
I want to believe that. I really do. But this doesn’t feel like tired. This feels like something else. This feels like something worse. Something I’m not ready to name yet.
Aunt Ivy tries again. She talks to her softly, gently, asking simple questions, trying to coax something out of her, but it’s like speaking into a void. Sierra doesn’t respond. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t even shift her gaze… It’s like we’re not here at all.
Minutes pass, maybe more. Time feels strange in this room, heavy and slow, like it’s stretching in ways it shouldn’t. I swallow hard and finally decide to try something else, glancing briefly at her mom before looking back at Sierra.
“Sierra…” I start carefully, my voice quieter than before. “We need to talk about the baby p>
There’s a pause, a small one, but I catch it. Her eyelids lower slightly before lifting again in a slow blink. It’s subtle, so subtle I might have missed it if I wasn’t watching her so closely… but it’s there. Something shifted, and a small flicker of hope rises in my chest.
“There is something you don’t know,” I continue, my voice steadier now despite the way my heart pounds.
There’s another pause, followed by another slow blink. I lean in just a little, holding onto that fragile thread of connection.
“You didn’t have a baby boy,” I say softly. “You had a girl p>
This time, the change is clearer. It’s not big or dramatic, but it’s there. Her eyes shift slightly. Not enough to look at me, but enough that I know she heard. That she’s listening.
“She’s beautiful, Sierra,” I add, my voice thickening despite my effort to stay composed. “So small but so strong p>
She still doesn’t speak, and there’s no full reaction, but she’s present. I can feel it. Aunt Ivy notices too; I see it in the way she straightens slightly, in the way her grip on Sierra’s hand tightens just a little.
“Sierra,” she says gently, “do you want to see her p>
That does it. Slowly, almost mechanically, Sierra turns her head. It’s not much, but it’s enough because she’s finally looking at her mom. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
Aunt Ivy reaches for her phone with slightly trembling hands and pulls up a picture.