“Do you remember your full name?”
“Layla Francis.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m twenty.”
“You’re twenty-one,” she corrected.
Technically.I wouldn't be twenty-one until February, but I wasn't about to argue the point.
“And do you know what day it is?” she continued.
I’d seen the fireworks. I remembered that. I’d left the party, but I wasn’t alone.
Who was I with?
“It’s… January 1st?”
“Good. You remember the date of the accident.”
“What accident? Ouch—” I winced as a sharp pain lanced through my skull, flaring behind my eyes as I tried to sit up. A nurse quickly adjusted the bed, raising the back so I could sit without moving.
“You were in a car accident, Layla,” the doctor explained, her voice disturbingly calm.
A knock at the door drew my attention, but I was still reeling from her words.
“What kind of accident?”
“Don’t worry,” she said, a phrase that instantly made me worry more. “You’ve been in a coma. But your vitals are strong. We just need to run a few more tests to make sure everything is okay with you and your baby.”
With mywhat?
Then, I heard a male voice and turned toward the door.
“I’m glad you’re awake. We were very worried.”
It took a moment for my brain to process the image.
Sebastian Turner. Camila’s reclusive, widowed brother-in-law. The man I’d exchanged maybe three words with in my life. What was he doing here?
A flash of memory—bitter and sharp—jolted through the fog.
Leaving the party.With him.
The doctor turned to Sebastian. “She’s responsive and oriented. We’ll need to run those tests to check on her and your baby’s health.”
Your baby.
“What do you mean,baby?” My voice was thin with disbelief. This had to be a mistake.
“You’re pregnant, dear. Nine weeks along.”
The world tilted.
Pregnant?How could I be? I hadn’t slept with anyone since…
Wait.
