–Livana–
It’s strange—everything is so bright, yet so blurred. But I know one thing: I can see. My husband approached, his tall figure softened by the haze, and in his hand was a rose. A thorny one, or so it should have been. He had already stripped it bare with his Swiss knife, leaving only its velvet bloom.
"What do you think?" he asked, leaning closer, his eyes locked on mine with such intensity that even through the blur, I felt pierced. "It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A purple rose."
I glanced down at the flower, then back at him.
"It’s... fine."
"I’ve been enhancing the greenhouse," he continued proudly, "making sure every shade of violet blooms there."
"Because it’s your favorite color?" I tilted my head, a sly smile tugging at my lips.
"My favorite color," he replied smoothly, "is the color of your eyes."
He said it so casually, yet it stole the air from . Why does he look even more handso when he’s cheerful? But then, he’s too dangerously attractive when he’s angry—or laughing like a madman. Damn him. He’s hot either way.
I shook off the thought. Insolent. Ridiculous.
Never in my life had I entertained such notions—perhaps because I was too busy savoring the way he worshipped , body and soul, every ti he took .
"Oh, look. The twins," he said suddenly.
"Twins?" My gaze drifted toward two children, small figures running toward us, their laughter echoing faintly. "I stole them from your sister," Damon whispered with a conspiratorial grin. It should have been absurd, but we used to spirit them away as though they belonged to us.
When I turned back, Damon was watching with that crooked smile.
"Why are you looking at like that? Don’t tell you’ve fallen in love with ."
I scoffed, shaking my head at his teasing.
"Liva," a familiar voice called, laced with a scent that made freeze. My breath caught. That voice...
"Oh, it’s your mom!" Damon announced lightly.
My heart faltered. My mother? But she was gone. Long gone. Wait—am I dreaming?
I turned, my vision struggling to sharpen. There she was, in a peach dress, walking toward . Her face was blurred, but clearer than the children’s.
"Hi, Mom!" Damon grinned, oblivious. "Liva finally told she loves . Can you believe it?"
I barely heard him. My hand reached out, trembling.
"Do you want to co with , Livana?" my mother asked, her voice suddenly so clear it rattled .
I froze. Sundo. That’s what they call it—a dead relative visiting you in your dreams, a gentle grim reaper, co to take you. Was she here to take ?
"Mama!"
The twins suddenly ran toward Laura’s figure, their laughter distorting the air. My gaze snapped back to my mother, torn between longing and fear.
I gasped, eyes flying open. My chest heaved. A silhouette lood in the dim light—a nurse with a mask. She squeezed my hand softly, grounding . The faint scent of her soap, the sterile air, all of it—too real. Yet my mind clung to the fragrance of my mother from the dream. Maybe I was still trapped between worlds.
My eyes fluttered shut again, sinking back.
"Liva?"
That voice. Damon’s. Urgent, cracked with relief. My eyes opened once more, his face blurring into focus as he leaned close. His breath brushed my skin.
"Hey," he sighed, pressing his forehead to mine. "Livana... you scared ."
"Hmm?" The sound was all I managed. My throat felt sandpapered, my body weak. My skull throbbed as if split in two. I could see, but only shadows and smudges.
"Liva, I’m here."
Another voice—Laura’s—called from my left. I turned weakly, my muscles sluggish, as though dragging chains.
"You scared us all. The doctor said you’d wake within twenty-four hours... but it’s been three days!" Her voice cracked with tears.
"L–raa..." I forced out the syllables heavy on my tongue.
"Doctor!" Damon roared.
Laura gripped my left hand, her warmth trembling against . "Squeeze my hand, Liva. Please."
I tried. My fingers barely twitched, more ghostly than firm. It didn’t even feel like I’d done it.
"Hmm..." I groaned. "I... bathroom." The word slurred.
"What do you need?" Laura asked urgently.
"I feel... sick."
Damon moved quickly, already holding a bin, already adjusting the bed to ease upright. He guided , steady and unshaken, as I vomited into the bin. My stomach churned, vicious and sour, as though my body wanted to purge every trace of weakness.
When it passed, the doctor examined , shining a light into eyes that should have been blind. He knew, of course. But I had to play my part, gathering myself into the fragile mask I always wore.
Later, after tests, warm soup was fed to . Then Damon, despite his own injuries, tended to as if nothing could stop him. He bathed gently, his hands steady, his movents reverent.
With him, I felt... comfortable. Safe. Yet when I glanced up, his eyes told another story—dark, burning, hurt. His jaw clenched at every bruise, every scar he had failed to shield from.
He dressed softly, almost as if I were made of glass. Then, he kissed . A whisper against my lips:
"I’m sorry, my love."
"What for?" My voice was still fragile.
"For not protecting you enough."
"We couldn’t have predicted it," I murmured. "Even with shadows around us."
"You scared the hell out of when you wouldn’t wake up. Do you know I nearly beat the doctor bloody?"
"I was... resting," I whispered faintly. "I think I woke last night. Or maybe... it was a dream."
"Last night?" His brows furrowed. "Why didn’t I notice?"
"Maybe you fell asleep."
He supported to the sink. My hands trembled on the toothbrush until he guided , giving calm instructions. It was clumsy, but it was us. Within minutes, he had back in fresh sheets, tucked carefully as though guarding from the world.
I kept my expression blank as faces began to arrive—grandparents with food and balloons, their kisses soft against my cheeks. The weight of the bandage on my head reminded that I wasn’t whole.
"Hello, family!" the doctor greeted cheerfully, stepping in with a clipboard.
"Hello, doc. How’s our girl?" Grandpa Belinda asked warmly.
The doctor’s smile lingered. "Well, I have so good news. But I think I should share it with the couple first."
Break it to the couple first? I frowned inwardly, curiosity gnawing at . What could possibly warrant such suspense?
The doctor stepped closer and handed a set of docunts to Damon. My husband froze. Completely. I watched him—waiting, impatient. Yet he remained silent, eyes locked on the papers. One minute passed. Then another. Even the family grew restless, their curiosity as sharp as mine.
Finally, the doctor cleared his throat.
"So, we ran preliminary tests before the surgery, just to ensure everything was safe. Fortunately, every dicine we used was approved for pregnancy."
My breath hitched. "Pregnancy?"
"Yes," he said with a smile. "At first, it was too early to confirm. But today, the results ca back positive. Congratulations, Mrs. Blackwell."
I turned to Damon. His silence stretched on, suffocating.
"Damon? Why are you so quiet?" My voice sliced through the air.
He didn’t answer, still staring at the papers like they were written in flas. Perhaps he didn’t even know how to process it all.
"Thank you, Doctor," I said smoothly, offering the smile Damon couldn’t.
Inside, though, I scoffed. This bastard is more shocked than I am. Honestly, what did he expect? I had thought myself barren by now, yet he’s been relentless—taking every single day, more than once a day, without fail, never letting a single drop go to waste. And now? He looks like a man struck dumb by his own success.
A sudden squeal broke the silence. Laura. Then the rest of the family erupted into cheers. I shook my head at their chaos.
The doctor chuckled softly. "I’ve already called Dr. Green. She’ll be here soon for an ultrasound, once you’re ready."
"Yes, thank you, Doctor," I replied, exhaustion tugging at . "But right now, I think I need more sleep than all this ruckus."
"That’s perfectly fine," he said with a reassuring nod.
"Let see that." Mother Amiliee plucked the papers straight from Damon’s hands. He still hadn’t moved, still staring as if the words might change if he looked hard enough.
I arched a brow. "What the hell is wrong with your son? Surely, he should have expected this."
Amiliee burst into laughter, her voice ringing through the room.
"Yeah!" Laura chid in, her laughter bubbling over. "They’ve been fucking nonstop ever since."
"Laura," Grandma Olivia scolded sharply. "Mind your language."
"Alright, alright," Laura said between giggles. "They’ve been banging nonstop then." She collapsed into more laughter, her husband joining her.
I chuckled despite the unease coiling in my stomach. Pregnant. . The word clung to like sothing fragile and terrifying.
Pregnant—and we only found out after the surgery, after the accident.
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