The white ceiling tiles blurred as I stared at them. My body was too weak to do much else. The more I thought about things, the more difficult it was to come to terms with the idea that I’d really been in a coma for a month.
My memories remained a patchwork of confusion with loose fragments that refused to align. My mom holding me as I broke down in her arms was the clearest image. I could still recall the dream, but everything after that felt hazy, heavily drowned with fog I couldn’t seem to walk past.
A soft knock broke through the silence. I turned my head, catching the moment Becca slipped into the room. Her usually cold eyes widened slightly when she saw me, and she let out a breath. Relief flickered across her face—genuine relief. I blinked in surprise.
“Harlyn,” she said, stepping closer to my bed. “You’re awake.”
I shifted against the pillows, my body protesting the movement with a subtle sting of pain. “Barely.” My voice was hoarse, shaken in tone by her demeanor.
