I drifted in and out of consciousness for most of the ride. I didn't open my eyes—my body simply wouldn't respond, as I'd already made clear.
Still, one thing I couldn't forget was Matthew's voice echoing through the halls, pleading for help. I couldn't see anything, but the smell—God, that smell—was unforgettable. A sharp, sterile mix of antiseptic and despair clung to the air, seeping into my soul. It was the scent of a place where life and death waltzed in fragile rhythm. You could always tell when you were in a hospital… even in your deepest coma.
Finally… help.
I felt myself being lowered onto something soft—what I could only assume was a bed. Urgent voices surrounded me, doctors and nurses moving quickly, their words blending into a blur of medical urgency.
I couldn't fight the pull anymore. I let go, falling into the darkness.
A darkness where there was no pain.
A darkness where I was finally… free.
"We're losing her," a woman's voice echoed faintly in the back of my mind.
Strangely, those words brought me peace.
"Come on, princess… don't you give up on me now," the voice called again, even farther away this time.
Clear!
A flicker of light pierced the mist. I felt warmth.
Clear!
The light grew brighter—and with it, sorrow.
I knew what it meant.
And I wished it would go away.
I wished the darkness would swallow it whole.
I wished the light would disappear.
I wanted to die.
Because that light meant… I was still here.
Clear!
The defibrillator's jolt surged through my body, a brutal shock that yanked my senses back toward life.
Why was I giving up?
Matthew had saved me.
And here I was… throwing away his effort.
My dreams.
College.
Marriage.
A family—one nothing like the one I came from.
To know what real happiness felt like… oh yes, genuine happiness.
I looked toward the light and reached out.
I wasn't giving up. Not today.
I had too much to live for.
Too much to prove.
Clear!
The paddles pressed against my chest again, sending another wave of electricity through me. The air crackled with the tension of life and death. My body jerked violently, the taste of metal and fear thick on my tongue. Then—
A gasp.
A heartbeat.
A rhythm.
A symphony of survival.
I survived.
When I finally woke, everything was spinning. I blinked several times, trying to focus. My body ached, and a groan escaped my lips. A warm hand settled gently on my shoulder.
Turning my head, I saw a nurse smiling down at me—tears glistening in her eyes.
"Are you awake, sweetie? How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice full of genuine concern.
It felt strange. I wasn't used to this kind of sincerity.
It was scary… but it felt good.
"Weak," I whispered, groaning again as pain flared through my side.
"Okay, let me go get the doctor," she said quickly, hurrying out of the room.
I lay there, groaning softly. My side felt like it was on fire—like the time I accidentally touched a live socket, only worse. It was as if electricity still crackled beneath my skin.
"Veronica? Hey, I'm Doctor Limbon."
A warm, gentle voice with a soft Hispanic accent pulled my attention to the doorway.
"How are you feeling, my dear?" he asked, stepping closer to examine me.
I flinched, pushing his hand away and clutching the sheet. The pain was sharp, intense—like something was lodged in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I doubled over, gasping.
"Veronica, how are you feeling?" he asked again, more urgently, checking my pulse.
"Veronica, hey—deep breaths. Breathe, sweetheart… breathe," he coached, demonstrating slow, steady inhales for me to follow.
"Nurse Richards, morphine—same dose, ASAP!" he called out, as I clung to his arm, my body trembling.
"How do you feel, Veronica? Stay with me," his voice echoed, distant and fading.
"It's a k-kind…"
"Doctor Limbon," Nurse Richards interrupted, handing him the medication.
"Veronica, this is morphine. I'm going to administer it through the IV catheter we placed last night. It'll help ease the pain, okay?" he explained gently, already preparing the injection.
As the medicine entered my veins, I felt the tension in my body begin to ease. The pain dulled, and my breathing slowed. He continued his examination with care, his touch light and respectful.
"Get some rest," he said softly, his voice fading as I slipped back into sleep.
When I woke again, the pain was still there, but not as sharp. I stayed still, not wanting to stir it.
"Thought you'd never wake up," Nurse Richards said from a chair across the room.
"You're still here," I murmured, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"I couldn't leave. My shift ended, but I had to make sure you woke up feeling a little better," she said with a sigh of relief.
I reached out to her. She stood and took my hand in hers.
It felt like a breeze of comfort—gentle, warm, and safe.
A soft caress that carried the weight of something I'd never known: unconditional care.
Is this what a mother's touch feels like?
"Why are you crying?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Your touch… it feels like a sanctuary. Like a place where pain fades and wounds heal. You make me feel safe," I said, tears spilling down my cheeks like a waterfall.
She laughed through her own tears, and somehow, that made me smile.
Her fingers brushed my cheeks, wiping away the tears. Each stroke felt like a brush painting love into my skin. Her touch spoke a silent language—one of protection, of care. It radiated warmth, a beacon of hope in the middle of my storm. In her embrace, I believed… maybe everything would be okay.
"Who did this to you?" she asked, her voice trembling with worry.
"Miss Veronica, good day," a man's voice said as the door opened. "I'm Detective Murphy. I was called regarding your situation."
Doctor Limbon followed him in, quietly closing the door behind them.
I looked up, and Nurse Richards gave my arm a reassuring squeeze.
"Do I have to?" I asked, my voice cracking with fear.
"Veronica," Doctor Limbon said gently, "you came in last night with bruises on your face—consistent with a slap or a punch. Your ribs show fractures on the MRI, caused by repeated, forceful kicks. Not once, but multiple times. Your body has older scars too—healed wounds from past trauma. I can't, in good conscience, let you leave here knowing this might never stop. Because next time… I might not see you alive. I might see you in a body bag. Please—help us help you."
"Do you want us to call your family?" Detective Murphy asked, pulling out his phone.
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Please… no."
"In times like these, you need them," Nurse Richards said softly.
But I couldn't call my family.
I had no one.
I was alone.
And suddenly… I couldn't hold it in anymore.
My cry tore through the room—a raw, primal sound filled with years of unspoken agony and despair.
"Th-they…" My voice trembled, shattered by sobs.
"They who?" Detective Murphy asked, his tone serious.
"My family… THEY DID IT!!!" I screamed, my voice cracking under the weight of truth. The words burst from me like a dam breaking—years of silence, fear, and pain flooding out in one breathless confession. My voice echoed like a haunting melody, trembling with vulnerability and truth.
Tears poured freely, cleansing my soul of secrets long buried.
I felt free.
I felt light.
I finally had…
My cry for help.