My heart stutters violently, my hands go cold, and vision blurs for a fraction of a second. It’s not a full blackout, but a dizzy, disorienting flash of seventeen-year-old me flying through the air, the snap of bone, the taste of dirt, the moment my entire life turned inside out. My breath catches, sharp, painful, but I force myself forward. I’m off my horse before she even stops moving, reins dropped in the dirt as I sprint toward Aria.
My breath catches, sharp, painful, but I force myself forward. I’m off my horse before she even stops moving, reins dropped in the dirt as I sprint toward Aria.
I fall to my knees beside her. “Oh God, baby—Aria—“
She’s crying, clutching her wrist to her chest, curled on her side in the dust.
“It hurts, Ella,” she gasps, voice trembling.
“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’ve got you.” I gently brush her hair back, my hands shaking so badly I can barely keep them steady. “Talk to me. Tell me where it hurts. Is it your legs? Your head?”
She shakes her head frantically. “Just my wrist.”
Thank God.
Thank God.
But the relief is tangled with something darker. Something clawing up my throat. Because I should’ve been closer. I should’ve seen the way her horse was carrying tension. I should’ve pulled her up before the turn. I should’ve—
This is my fault. I’m her trainer. I’m responsible for her.
“Okay, Aria,” I whisper, trying to steady my breath. “We need to get you to the hospital.”
Duncan, who must have seen Aria fall, is running toward us, phone pressed to his ear. “Ambulance is on the way,” he informs me.
I nod, unable to speak.
Minutes blur into motion—Aria clinging to me, crying through every touch, my own body quivering like it’s been stripped of bones and replaced with wires. When the ambulance arrives, I climb in without asking permission, without looking back.
“Where’s Daddy? I need my dad,” Aria cries.
Oh God, Cole! He’s going to hate me for this. And just when we had managed to cross a huge hurdle in our relationship.
“Tell Cole to meet us at the hospital,” I inform Duncan just as the ambulance’s doors close.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, he’ll meet us at the hospital,” I console her.
She curls into my side, head pressed to my ribs, tears dampening my shirt. I hold her tightly with one arm, the other hand resting on her bandaged wrist on the cushion beside her.
Her pain crawls under my skin like it’s mine; her fear feels like a mirror.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “I should’ve— I should’ve been faster, sweetheart. I should’ve—“
“It’s not your fault,” she sniffles, though her voice is thin and shaky.
But the guilt is already rooted. Already heavy.
Because who am I to think I can be someone’s stepmother, someone’s safe place, when I can’t even keep her from falling?
That thought is a blade pressed right against my ribs, sharp enough to make my lungs burn.
When we reach the ER, they rush her back for imaging, leaving me to my panic. My breathing is too fast, vision jumping in and out of focus, palms slick with sweat.
I’m spiraling. I know it. I can feel it, and I’m powerless to stop it.
By the time Cole bursts through the automatic doors—chest heaving, boots thudding, eyes wild with fear—I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand.
He takes one look at me and his face changes. His eyes soften, focusing on me.
