Chapter Eight: The Choice

Mia came back to herself in pieces.

Not all at once—never all at once. First the ache. A deep, spreading soreness that made her feel like she’d been folded wrong and left that way. Then the sounds. Low voices. Shoes on tile. A monitor ticking out a rhythm she didn’t recognize but somehow knew was hers.

Her eyelids fluttered.

She didn’t open them.

She listened.

“…pressure’s holding for now.”

“For now,” another voice echoed. Male. Tired.

“We’ve done what we can medically. But the pregnancy is complicating things.”

That word snagged.

Pregnancy.

Her breath stuttered, shallow and instinctive. A hand—hers—twitched weakly against the sheet.

“Internal bleeding is under control,” a woman continued. “But if it spikes again, we’re out of options.”

There was a pause. The kind doctors used when they were bracing for impact.

“To save her, we’d need to terminate.”

The word landed heavily.

Terminate.

Something inside her snapped awake.

No.

The thought came sharp and clear, louder than the pain, louder than the beeping machine. Her heart began to race, the monitor betraying her instantly.

“That’s not a decision we can delay,” the man said. “She’s unstable. One wrong turn and—”

“I’m awake.”

Her voice scraped out of her throat, rough and thin, but unmistakably there.

Every sound in the room stopped.

Mia forced her eyes open.

White ceiling. Harsh light. Faces hovering above her—startled, cautious, suddenly alert. The nurse nearest her leaned forward instinctively.

“Miss,” she said gently. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Mia whispered. “I heard you. I can hear you.”

The silence that followed was different now. No longer clinical. No longer distant.

The doctor cleared his throat. “You’ve been through a lot. You were in an accident. You lost consciousness for some time.”

“I know,” Mia said. Her voice shook, but not from confusion. “You said you want to… remove it.”

The nurse’s eyes softened. “We’re worried about you.”

Mia swallowed. Her throat burned.

“And the baby?”

Another pause.

“There’s a heartbeat,” the doctor said carefully. “But it’s weak. Continuing the pregnancy puts you at serious risk.”

Her hand slid, slow and protective, to her stomach. The movement sent a ripple of pain through her, but she didn’t stop.

“No,” she said.

The word came out small. Then she tried again. “No.”

The doctor stepped closer. “Miss, we need you to understand—”

“I understand,” she cut in, breath shallow now. “You’re saying if I keep it, I might die.”

No one corrected her.

Her chest tightened, not with fear, but something sharper. Something colder.

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll likely recover fully,” the nurse said softly.

Recover.

The word felt foreign. Like it belonged to someone else.

Mia stared past them, at the blank wall beyond the bed. Images flickered behind her eyes—her apartment, empty and echoing. The ring left behind. The door closing. The silence after.

She’d already died once.

“I’m not agreeing,” she said. “Not yet. Not ever.”

The doctor exhaled slowly. “We need consent. Or next of kin.”

That phrase hit harder than any diagnosis.

Next of kin.

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

“I don’t have one,” she said too quickly.

The nurse hesitated. “Everyone has someone.”

Mia shook her head, the movement barely perceptible. “Not anymore.”

They exchanged glances. Professional. Concerned.

“We need a name,” the doctor said. “A legal contact. A spouse. Parent. Trustee.”

Trustee.

The word floated in the air between them, waiting.

“…Chris Argent,” the nurse said slowly, reading from a tablet. “He’s listed as legal trustee on the record. Is that correct?”

The room tilted.

Mia’s breath caught.

Chris.

The name struck something deep and buried, something she’d tried very hard to forget. Memories surged—too fast, too vivid. His voice in a quiet room. The way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The papers she’d signed without reading too closely because she trusted him.

Her eyes flickered.

Just once.

The doctor noticed.

“You know him,” he said.

Mia said nothing.

Her silence was answer enough.

“He came in earlier,” the nurse added carefully. “Said he was family.”

Mia’s fingers curled into the sheet.

Family.

The word tasted strange now. Heavy.

A tightness spread through her chest—not fear of dying, not even fear of losing the baby.

Fear of being found.

Of being pulled back into a life she’d already stepped away from.

She closed her eyes.

If they thought she was gone—if the world believed she had slipped through its fingers—then maybe she could finally leave without being followed. Without explanations. Without being claimed.

The idea settled slowly.

Terrifying.

And empowering.

“No,” she said suddenly.

The nurse leaned in. “No to what, sweetheart?”

“No next of kin,” Mia whispered. “No consent. No termination. I don’t have anyone. ”

Her heart raced now, but her voice steadied as she spoke. “I make my own decisions.”

The doctor watched her for a long moment. “You’re asking us to risk your life.”

Mia met his gaze. “I’ve been risking it for years.”

Silence stretched again, thick with things unsaid.

“We’ll give you time,” the nurse said finally. “But not much.”

They stepped back, murmuring as they moved away. The room exhaled, the tension thinning but not disappearing.

Mia lay there, staring at the ceiling, her hand still resting over her stomach.

She didn’t know if she was being brave.

She only knew she wasn’t running.

Footsteps approached.

The door creaked open.

She didn’t turn her head.

She didn’t need to.

She knew him by the way the room changed when he entered. By the pause in his breathing. By the weight of his presence settling near the bed like something unfinished.

“Iris.”

Her name—her real one—spoken softly.

She closed her eyes.

Chris stood there, tall and familiar and older somehow, his dark eyes searching her face like he was afraid she might vanish if he blinked. His shoulders were tense, his jaw set, but there was something raw beneath it. Something unguarded.

“They said you were awake,” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer.

“I didn’t know if—” He stopped himself, swallowed. “I’m here.”

Mia finally turned her head.

Their eyes met.

Recognition flared—sharp, undeniable.

And just like that, the past stepped back into the room.

She didn’t say anything.

But the truth hovered between them, waiting.

And for the first time, Mia wondered if disappearing was truly escape—

—or if choosing to stay was the bravest thing she’d ever done.