"Six?" I guess. Maybe seven. It's hard to tell when everything hurts in different ways, different intensities.
"That's normal given the extent of your injuries." He swipes through screens on the tablet, reviewing information I can't see. "You have multiple lacerations—we stitched the worst ones on your left side. One broken rib, which is going to hurt for several weeks. We've got you on pain medication but we're trying to keep the dosage moderate."
I nod, processing. Lacerations. Broken rib. That matches what I'm feeling, explains the sharp pain when I breathe too deep or move too fast.
"The more serious concern was internal bleeding." Dr. Reeves' expression shifts, taking on the careful neutrality that means bad news is coming. "The impact caused significant trauma to your abdomen. We had to take you into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding and repair the damage."
Declan's hands tighten on my face again. I can feel him going rigid beside me, preparing for whatever comes next.
"You're going to make a full recovery," Dr. Reeves continues, and I feel Declan exhale against my temple. "The bleeding is stopped, the lacerations will heal, the rib will mend. You'll have soreness for a while, and I want you to avoid strenuous activity for at least six weeks while everything heals properly."
"Okay." Relief floods through me, loosening muscles I didn't realize I'd tensed. Full recovery. That's the important part. Everything else is just details, just temporary discomfort that'll fade with time.
But Dr. Reeves doesn't look relieved. He looks like a man about to deliver the second half of bad news, the part that doesn't come with silver linings or eventual healing.
"However." He pauses, and that single word drops like a stone between us. "The damage to your lower abdomen was extensive. We had to make some life-saving decisions in the operating room."
Something cold starts spreading through my chest, replacing the relief with dread I don't understand yet, can't name.
"What kind of decisions?" My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else.
Dr. Reeves meets my eyes, and I see pity there, sympathy that makes my stomach clench despite the pain it causes.
"The impact ruptured your uterine wall. We did everything we could to repair it, but the damage was too severe. In order to stop the internal bleeding and save your life, we had to perform an emergency hysterectomy."
The words hit like physical blows, each one landing with the force of the car I don't remember. Uterine wall. Emergency hysterectomy. Medical terms I understand from my anatomy classes, from years of planning to go into nursing, from a life spent learning how bodies work and what happens when they break.
"You're saying—" I stop, have to force the words past lips that feel numb. "You're saying I can't have children."
"I'm so sorry." And he does sound sorry, genuinely regretful in a way that makes it worse somehow. "We had to make the choice in the moment. Your life was in immediate danger. But yes, the surgery has left you unable to conceive."
Sterile. The word echoes in my head, clinical and final. I'm twenty-one years old and I'm sterile.
I don't know what I feel. There's too much, too many emotions crowding in at once—shock and grief and something that might be relief mixed with guilt for feeling relief and anger at the unfairness of it all. I've never been sure I wanted kids, never let myself think that far ahead when I was too busy surviving day to day. But having the choice taken away, having my body make that decision without my consent?—
"Zola." Declan's voice pulls me back, rough with emotion I'm afraid to identify. "Love, look at me."
I turn my head, meeting those dark green eyes. There's devastation there, fury directed at the universe or God or whoever's responsible for this. But underneath it, steady and certain, is something else.
"You're alive." He says it like a prayer, like the only thing that matters. "You're here and you're alive and that's—that's all I need."
4
DECLAN
The relief that floods through me when Dr. Reeves confirms she'll recover is so powerful it nearly buckles my knees. Full recovery. Those are the only words that matter, the only thing I can hold onto while the rest of the world tilts sideways.
I watch Zola process the rest—the hysterectomy, the permanence of it—and I want to rage at the unfairness. Want to put my fist through the wall, find the driver who did this, make them understand what they've taken. But none of that will help her right now. None of that will ease the shock written across her face or the way her amber eyes have gone distant, looking at something I can't see.
"You're alive." I say it again because I need her to understand. "That's all that matters to me."
She blinks, focuses on my face. Something vulnerable flickers behind her eyes, something that looks like fear.
"But Dec?—"
"No." I frame her face with both hands, gentle despite the fury still coursing through my veins. "Listen to me, love. You're here. You're breathing. You're going to heal. Everything else—we'll figure it out. But I need you to understand that this doesn't change anything between us."
"It changes everything." Her voice cracks. "I can't give you?—"
