When my eyes fluttered open, all I saw was white—harsh, sterile, blinding. For a heartbeat, I thought I was already on the other side.
Then the pain crashed over me.
A sharp pulse tore through my head, my ribs ached, and my stomach clenched like it was twisting in on itself. I blinked slowly, trying to focus on the IV hanging beside me, the faint drip of liquid, the wires taped against my bruised skin.
“You’re awake,” came a gentle voice. A nurse stepped closer, clipboard in hand. She looked young, but her eyes carried the weight of someone who’d seen too much suffering. “You’re at St. Luke’s Hospital. Please don’t move too suddenly, okay? You’ve got stitches on your forehead and some nasty bruising. Your body needs time.”
I groaned softly, my throat dry. “My baby…”
Her lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “Still fighting. You’ve both been through a lot, but your little one’s strong.”
Relief hit me so hard it hurt. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until then. She gave my arm a light pat before continuing.
“You’ll need to stay under close observation, especially with your diagnosis. We’re giving you medication to stabilize both you and the baby.”
I nodded faintly. “Thank you.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Is there anyone we should contact for you? Family? Your husband?”
The question hollowed me out. Because the only voices I remembered before the darkness were theirs.
“Don’t look at her. You’ll get sick from the blood. Come on, let’s go buy baby clothes.”
Richard’s voice—flat, indifferent.
Camille’s—high and shaking, but I couldn’t tell if it was guilt or performance.
“No,” I said quietly. “There’s no one to call.”
She nodded, wrote something down, and left me in silence.
My hands trembled as I reached for the hospital phone. If they wouldn’t speak the truth, then I would.
I took a steadying breath and dialed.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I need to report a hit-and-run,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “It happened outside St. Luke’s. It wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate.”
“Do you know the driver’s name?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Camille Moore.”
I hung up before I could second-guess myself. For the first time in a long while, I felt… brave.
But courage doesn’t last long when you’re alone.
I must’ve drifted off, because the next thing I knew, someone was shaking me hard. Pain shot through my shoulder.
“What the hell did you just do?” Richard’s voice thundered.
I blinked awake, disoriented, only to see his face inches from mine—furious, red with rage. Behind him, Camille stood clutching a tissue, her crocodile tears soaking into it.
“Why are the police questioning Camille?” Richard barked. “Do you have any idea what kind of mess you’ve made?”
“She ran me over,” I croaked. “And she left me there.”
“It was an accident, Serena!” he snapped. “She’s still learning how to drive—”
“Then why didn’t she help me?” I shot back.
“She panicked! You blew this out of proportion. You didn’t need to involve the police—you could’ve just talked to me!”
“Talked?” I let out a shaky laugh. “Like when you joked about me dying?”
Camille sniffed, her voice small. “I didn’t mean for it to happen…”
“Don’t apologize to her,” Richard hissed, rounding on her. “She’s the one at fault here. You terrified her with this police stunt. Do you realize the damage this could cause? Your mother will find out. She’ll side with Camille again. You’ll lose everything.”
I clenched my fists beneath the blanket. “I don’t care anymore.”
“You should,” he said, his tone dropping to something dark and dangerous. “Now get up and apologize.”
“What?” My voice trembled.
“Apologize to her. Now.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to say sorry—for being run over?”
He grabbed my wrist and yanked me forward until my knees hit the cold tile floor. “You scared her. You owe her that.”
Tears burned down my face as I forced the words out. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Louder,” he demanded.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, my voice cracking.
Camille placed a delicate hand on his arm, her tone soft. “It’s okay. She’s just emotional.”
But I saw the faint smirk that flickered on her lips. The same one she wore years ago when she’d framed me for breaking my mother’s antique vase. She’d cried then too, convincing everyone it was my fault. I’d been punished while she walked away smiling.
And now, years later, she was still doing the same thing—taking everything from me while pretending to care.
They left soon after, the door clicking quietly behind them. The silence they left behind felt heavier than before.
That was my breaking point.
With shaking fingers, I reached for the phone once more and dialed the number that had lived in the back of my mind for years.
One ring. Two.
“Val?” came the voice on the other end.
“Drake…” My voice trembled.
“Serena? Are you okay?” he asked quickly.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said the words I never thought I’d say.
“I’m ready. I’ll marry you. Just… come get me.”
