Chapter Thirty Three

Mara 

My phone buzzed with Kyla’s name last night, I almost didn’t pick up. It was late, and the kids had just settled down after a long day. But something in me told me to answer, and thank God I did because these kids really needed me. 

Her voice was weak, strained, barely holding together. “Mara, it’s me. I’m in the hospital. I need you to go check on Chanel and Elias for me. Please.”

I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t need to. Kyla has always been the kind of woman who tries to handle everything herself, who hides her pain so no one else has to carry it. For her to call me, of all people, I knew it had to be serious. She never asked for any type of help unless she really needed it. 

So I stayed with the kids, tucked them in, and told them Mama was fine because that’s what they needed to hear. But this morning, I couldn’t keep them away any longer. They had been asking nonstop, little voices full of worry: Where’s Mama? Why hasn’t she come home? When is she coming home? 

And truth is, I couldn’t bear the thought of them sitting at home wondering. They needed to see her. She needed to see them.

Now, walking into the hospital with Chanel’s small hand gripping mine and Elias skipping beside me, I can feel the knot in my stomach tighten. I hope this is the right decision. I hope seeing her kids will lift Kyla’s spirit, not overwhelm her.

When we reach her room, I pause at the door. The nurse nods, recognizing me from last night when I came to drop off some things. She pushes the door open gently.

Kyla

I hear soft footsteps before I see them. At first, I thought it’s another nurse coming to check my vitals. But when the door swings open and I see two little faces peeking in my babies, I nearly forget how to breathe.

“Mommy!”

Chanel’s voice rings out first, high and excited, and then Elias barrels in behind her, his curls bouncing, his grin wide. My heart stutters. For a second, I think I’m dreaming again, another cruel trick of my mind. But then Chanel’s arms wrap around me, warm and real, and Elias climbs right onto the bed without hesitation, his little knees pressing into my side.

“Careful!” Mara hisses behind them, but she’s smiling too.

Tears flood my eyes before I can stop them. I pull them both close, inhaling their scent shampoo, crayons, childhood. I have never needed anything more than I need this moment, their little tiny arms around me. 

“Mommy missed you two so much,” I whisper, kissing the top of Chanel’s head, then Elias’s. My voice cracks, but I don’t care. They are here. My babies are here.

Elias giggles, poking at the hospital gown. “Why are you wearing this funny dress, Mama?”

I laugh wetly, brushing a hand over his hair. “Because Mama had a little accident and the doctors are helping me get better.”

Chanel frowns, her eyes wide and serious. She’s always been the older soul, even though she’s just seven. “You are not gonna stay here forever, right? You are coming home?”

I cup her face in my hands, brushing away her worry with my thumbs. “I’m coming home, baby. As soon as they say I’m ready. I promise.”

They settle onto the bed with me, Chanel curled against my side, Elias sprawled across my lap like he owns the place. They chatter nonstop, telling me about cartoons, about the neighbor’s dog who barked all night, about how Mara let them eat pancakes for dinner because they missed me. Their voices fill the sterile hospital room with life, with color.

For a little while, I forget about the concussion, the nightmares, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I just listen. I just breathe them in.

Mara sits in the corner, watching us with soft eyes. She doesn’t say much, but I know she understands. This right here, is what I have been holding on for.

Elias grabs the remote and pretends it’s a spaceship, making buzzing sounds as he flies it around my head. Chanel scolds him, but she’s laughing too. I laugh with them until my sides ache, the sound foreign but healing.

And then the door opens again, this time it's Jake. 

Jake

I push the door open with my shoulder, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a bag with some clothes in the other. I spent half the morning running around trying to get things Kyla might need things she wouldn’t ask for herself.

I’m ready to see her smile again, even if it’s small. I’m ready to sit by her side until she falls asleep.

But what I walk into knocks the air out of me.

Two kids.

Not just kids, I can tell they are her kids. A little girl with Kyla’s eyes sitting pressed against her side, and a boy with wild curls sprawled across her lap, both of them laughing, playing with her like she’s their whole world.

And the look on her face, God, I have never seen it before. Pure love. Pure light. It’s like the pain that haunted her last night doesn’t exist in this moment.

I freeze in the doorway, my mind scrambling to catch up. She never told me. Not once. She never said a word about having children.

The coffee in my hand goes cold. The bag nearly slips from my grip. All I can do is stare.

Her kids, which could easily mean my kids by their age, I could tell they are around five years old. 

The woman I’ve been breaking myself trying to understand, trying to protect, she has been holding this piece of herself back the whole time.

And as much as I want to step forward, to greet them, to let them keep laughing with their mother, I can’t move. I’m rooted to the spot, shock coursing through me.