She looked so small in that bed. Mika, who had always seemed larger than life with her loud opinions and her purple hair and her absolute refusal to let anyone push her around. Now she lay motionless under white sheets, tubes and wires connecting her to machines that beeped and hummed. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythms.
Alive. She was alive. The doctors had told us she was stable, that the surgery had gone well, that she was expected to make a full recovery with time and rest.
But seeing her in that bed, so still and quiet, made the relief feel hollow.
Vivi and I stood at that window for what felt like hours, crying and holding onto each other. Noah hovered nearby, close enough to catch us if we collapsed but far enough to give us privacy. At some point someone brought chairs and we sat,our hands still clasped together, our eyes never leaving Mika’s unconscious form.
I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until a familiar voice cut through the fog in my brain.
“There you are!”
My heart clenched at the sound. Vivi and I both turned, and there was Sarah, bustling toward us with that determined expression she always wore when she was about to mother someone whether they wanted it or not.
She wrapped her arms around both of us before we could react, pulling us into a hug that smelled of lavender and fresh-baked cookies. The scent alone was enough to make me cry harder.
“Shh, it’s okay, girls,” she murmured, her hands rubbing soothing circles on our backs. “Mika’s a fighter. She’s going to be just fine.”
“What-” I pulled back, confusion cutting through my grief. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on a cruise for two more weeks.”
Sarah had worked so hard her entire life. Taking care of me after my parents died. Running her own business. Helping raise the twins when I’d needed an extra set of hands. When I’d finally convinced her to take a vacation, to actually enjoy her retirement with her friends, I’d been so happy for her. She deserved every second of relaxation and fun.
She wasn’t supposed to come back early because of me.
“Knox told me you were having a difficult time with the pregnancy,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. “So I returned quicker.”
I stared at her, mouth hanging open. “Why the heck would he tell you that?”
“Because I threatened him.” Sarah’s expression didn’t waver. “I told him if anything happened to you and he didn’t keep me informed, I would make his life very uncomfortable. And because he knows you’ll never tell me the truth on your own. You’re too stubborn for your own good, Lina. Always have been.”
“I didn’t want you to worry-”
“Too bad.” She cut me off with that no-nonsense tone that had terrified me as a teenager and now just made me feel safe. “I would never forgive myself if you were hurting and I wasn’t there to support you. Seems I came back right on time.”
Her eyes moved past me to the window, to Mika lying in that hospital bed surrounded by machines. The sadness that crossed her face was genuine and deep.
“Tell me everything,” she said, turning back to me. “And I mean everything, Lina. No more secrets. No more protecting me from the truth. I want to know exactly what’s been going on.”
Oh, shit.
I looked at Vivi, who shrugged helplessly. I looked at Noah, who was suddenly very interested in his phone. No help from either of them.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Basilinna Winters. Start talking.”
The full name. She’d used my full name. That meant she wasn’t going to let this go no matter how much I tried to deflect or minimize or change the subject.
I took a deep breath.
“Okay,” I said. “But you might want to sit down for this.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
Sarah pulled up a chair and sat, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on my face with the patient intensity of a woman who had raised a stubborn child and learned exactly how to wait her out.
So I told her. Everything.
The threatening messages that had started weeks ago.
