Prologue: Oakleigh
Darkness. A thick, velvety void. I float, untethered. No up, no down. Justโฆ nothing. Then, pinpricks of sensation. A smell, sharp and sterile. Burns the inside of my nose. Antiseptic. A sound, insistent. Rhythmic. Beepโฆ beepโฆ beepโฆ Close. Too close. Something covers me. Cool. Crisp. Wrong. Not my sheets. These are stiff, alien against skin that feels too sensitive, too raw.๏ปฟ
My body. God, my body is heavy. Like lead fills my bones, pinning me to whatever surface lies beneath. I try to shift, just an inch. Nothing. Stone. I try to open my eyes. They refuse. Sealed shut by some invisible glue. Panic flickers, a tiny cold spark in the vast dark.
Images flash behind my eyelids. Jagged pieces of memory. Carrington. His face tight with fury, knuckles white as he stands over me. The man I punched. Then, another Carrington. Mouth close, breath warm on my skin, his steel eyes softened to smoke. Heat floods me, unwanted, confusing.
Then the boys. Our twins. Carrington holding Kole while I changed Koltonโs diaper. Our uneasy co-parenting dance. The tension between us thicker than the Texas air.
The memory dissolves into violence. Thomas. A sneer twisting his lips. A flash of movement. Pain exploding behind my eyes.
My hands instinctively try to move. My babies. Our boys. Where are they? Are they safe? Are they still with Carrington? Did Thomas hurt them too? The panic surges, but my body remains a prison. I canโt even ask about them, canโt even form the words.
Where am I? Hospital. The smell. The beeping. It has to be. My throat feels like cracked desert earth. Swallowing is agony. A dull hammer pounds relentlessly inside my skull, each beat echoing the monitorโs pulse. I try again to move. A finger. Just lift one finger. My brain screams the command. My body remains inert. Trapped. This flesh isnโt mine. It wonโt obey. Terror, cold and sharp, slices through the fog.
Sounds sharpen slightly. Muffled voices murmur nearby. The whisper of fabric, the soft squeak of rubber soles on a hard floor. Movement brushes the edge of my limited perception. Shapes swim in the periphery, blurry figures against a dim background. I fight to focus, to force my reluctant eyelids open just a crack. Light stabs through the slit, momentarily blinding.
A shape solidifies. Tall. Broad shoulders outlined against the ambient light. Dark hair. I know that silhouette. Carrington. He stands near the bed, watching me. Watching the machines? No, watching me. But he looksโฆ wrong. Older. The lines around his eyes are deeper, etched by time or worry. His jaw is tight, his usual rigid control strained. He looksโฆ haggard. Like he hasnโt slept in days. Or years.
My eyelids flutter again. A weak, involuntary movement. He sees it. His posture changes. He leans closer, his breath catching in a harsh sound. His face crumples. Not with anger. With something else. Something raw. Broken. Relief floods his features, so intense it looks like agony. His voice comes out rough, a gravelly whisper that cracks mid-syllable. โCome back to us, Oaks.โ His gaze holds mine, fierce, desperate. โYour sons need you.โ
Your sons need you.
The words land like a physical blow, right in my chest. It steals the air I can barely draw. Our boys. Heโs still caring for them. Theyโre alive. Theyโre with him. Relief floods through me, then a crushing sense of loss. How much have I missed? How much have they grown?
A low whine cuts through the beeping. From beside the bed, near the floor. Then, the faint scrape of claws against metal. A dog? Carrington has a dog? It sounds agitated, aware. It knows Iโmโฆ here. Wherever here is.
The tempo in the room shifts. The steady beepโฆ beepโฆ beep changes slightly, faster now. A blur of blue scrubs moves quickly into my line of sight. A womanโs voice, sharp, professional. โDoctor! Sheโs responding.โ Footsteps hurry closer. More shapes crowd my limited vision.
A face looms above me. Unfamiliar. A bright light shines directly into my eye. Painful. I try to jerk away, but my head is lead on the pillow. โPupils reactive to light,โ a calm male voice announces. Clinical. Detached. More murmurs. โNeurological responseโฆ remarkable progress, really.โ โUnexpected responsiveness given the durationโฆโ Their words float like meaningless debris on the surface of my panic.
I catch sight of Carrington again. Heโs been pushed back slightly by the medical team, but he hasnโt left. He watches, his hands clenched at his sides. Tears track unashamedly down his face, carving paths through the exhaustion etched there. He looks older. Definitely older. How long? How long have I beenโฆ gone?
I need to ask. I force air up my throat, past the sandpaper dryness. Push. A sound rips from me, a dry, broken rasp. Painful. Useless. No words. Just noise. Frustration claws at me, hot and helpless. *The boys? Are they okay? How long?*
The nurse beside me adjusts an IV bag hanging near my head. She speaks to the doctor, her voice lower but still audible over the machines. โVitals are stable now, doctor. Amazing after three yearsโฆโ
Three years.
The phrase slams into me. Three. Years. Gone. Vanished into the black void I just surfaced from. Panic explodes, icy and suffocating. Three years? The boys arenโt babies anymore. Theyโre toddlers. Walking. Talking. Three years of first words, first stepsโgone. Our uneasy co-parenting arrangement transformed into... what? Carrington raising them alone? My life, stolen. The room seems to spin, the beeping fades in and out.
A dog lets out a single, sharp bark. A canine exclamation point to the impossible news. โShh, boy,โ Carrington murmurs, his voice thick.
My gaze darts wildly, snagging on the bedside table. Small, silver frames catch the light. Photographs. Carrington stands in sunlight, a rare, faint smile touching his lips. Beside himโฆ beside him stand two small boys. Dark hair. Serious eyes. *His* eyes. Steel gray, staring out from small, solemn faces. Kole and Kolton. Toddlers now. Walking. Standing. Carringtonโs hand rests protectively on the shoulder of the slightly taller one. My God, how theyโve grown. Children whoโve grown up without me. With only Carrington to raise them.
The world tilts violently. Reality fractures. Three years of their lives. Gone. Erased. And somehow, impossibly, Carrington has been there for all of it.
I try again. Fight against the crushing weight. Try to speak. To ask. To understand. How? When? My body refuses. A prison of unresponsive flesh. The effort, the shock, the sheer impossibility of it allโฆ itโs too much.
The edges of my vision swim, darkening. The bright lights dim. The voices blur, echoing, fading into the distance. The pounding in my head intensifies, swallowing the rhythmic beeping. The antiseptic smell feels thick now, choking me. Iโm sinking. Drowning in the darkness rushing back to reclaim me. My tenuous grip on awareness loosens, slips.
One thought echoes in the collapsing space of my mind, sharp and desperate, as the blackness takes me under again.
Three years. Iโve lost three years with my sons.
