>Mallory
I woke up in the sa white room, my body heavy. It feels like there’s not enough rest that would make the dizziness disappear. I sighed and stared at the ceiling, counting cracks that probably weren’t really there, blinking slowly as the room tilted every ti I breathed too deep.
The door slid open without a knock.
I didn’t even have to look.
Only one person I knew walked into places like she owned them. My husband would often say sothing before entering unless I looked visibly asleep.
"I swear," my Mara’s voice rang, sharp and tight with barely contained panic, "if anyone tells to ’calm down’ one more ti, I’m buying this hospital and firing them."
I turned my head slowly, the motion pulling at my neck. "Good afternoon to you too."
She froze the mont she looked at . In her hand, wrapped tightly in her grip, was my son. She quickly—but gently—put him down, adjusting her hold so he didn’t stumble.
Then she crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed my hand like she was afraid I’d disappear again, her fingers cold and shaking.
"What happened to you?" she said, words tumbling out. "Who dare do this to you?" Her jaw clenched hard.
"Breath," I chuckled dryly, the sound rough in my throat. She would always goes anxious like that everyti sothing happens to .
"I just need rest. I’m not dying. My head is spinning, though."
Her eyes scanned my face, my arms, the IV taped to my skin, the monitors beside . She barely blinked. "They said you were drugged. Do you have any idea what that did to ?"
"I’m guessing nothing cheap."
She huffed, a short sound that was half laugh, half fury. She scanned my face again before taking my hand and clasping it in both of hers.
"Look how pale you look. I swear I’m going to kill whoever made you this way."
I wanted to laugh because that’s exactly what my husband said. Not like I want to do anything less though.
This isn’t cheap pranks.
My son appeared from behind her, small hands gripping the hem of her very expensive coat. He peeked around her leg, eyes locking onto mine instantly.
His face crumpled.
"Oh—hey," I said softly. "Hey, sweetheart. Mommy misses you so much." I tried to sit up, pushing slightly against the mattress, but every ti I moved felt like I’m being crushed by a boulder in my chest. I had to stop, breath hitching.
His brow crumpled as he rushed to my bedside, tears starting to spill down his cheeks. He wiped at them fast, like he was trying to control it so he wouldn’t bother Mara.
What a good son I have.
Then he reached out for his bag, which I assu was a top luxury bag. Seeing how his entire body screams like he’s wearing money. I swear she goes above and beyond spoiling him. I watched him closely as he pulled out a magnetic drawing board, scribbling fast and clumsily before holding it up to with both hands.
Baby’s scared. Mommy is hurt.
My chest tightened painfully. "I know," I said, voice quieter. "I’m sorry. Mommy’s okay now. Promise."
He didn’t look convinced. His mouth pressed into a thin line. He turned and glared up at my best friend, then slid the eraser across the board before writing sothing very deliberate, slower this ti, and showing it to her.
Mommy is not allowed to go places alone. Asher will protect mommy!
My best friend blinked. "...Did he just ground you?"
"Yes," I said with a low laugh. "And honestly, fair."
It’s a good thing he learned about writing his thoughts. In the past, he would never even do that. My son is healing. I can’t help but smile as they tried to argue together in front of , him stomping his little feet once for emphasis.
She crouched slightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t worry," she told him seriously. "Once you grew old, you can protect your mommy from everyone."
He straightened a little at that, pride flickering through his worry. Then scribbled again at his pad.
Asher will protect mommy even if he’s small.
"I see. I look forward to it, my little superhero!" I cheered.
And then I finally turned to Mara, who was now sitting in front of , placing the flowers and fruit carefully on the table like she needed sothing to do with her hands.
"And why is my child dressed like a runway model?"
She glanced down at him. "Oh. That."
"That jacket," I continued slowly, eyeing the fabric, "has a logo I’ve only seen behind glass."
"He was cold," she said defensively, crossing her arms.
"That’s cashre."
"And?"
"And he’s six."
She waved a hand. "Trauma shopping. He doesn’t deserve less because he’s my son. And this our first Father and Son bonding."
"Father my foot."
My son tugged at my sleeve and wrote, very calmly, without looking at her:
She bought shoes too.
I stared at her.
"...How many?"
She hesitated, eyes sliding away.
I narrowed my eyes. "How. Many."
"Four," she muttered. "But in my defense, two were sensible."
"Sensible?" I echoed.
"Orthopedic," she corrected.
I groaned and leaned back against the pillow.
"I leave you alone with my son for one crisis and suddenly he’s richer than ."
She softened then, all the sharp edges lting away as she looked at . "You will never understand what I felt when I heard that you’re in the hospital," she said quietly. "It reminded when I found out about Asher from the school and find you looking so lifeless outside the operating room..."
Her voice strained. Guilt ford inside my chest, my throat drying instantly.
"I hate how I’m always the last person to know."
My son climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed and leaned against my arm, careful not to put his weight on . I wrapped my hand around his, grounding myself.
"I’m still here," I said, forcing a smile onto my face. "Dizzy, embarrassed, and apparently the owner of a child with a luxury wardrobe—but here."
She exhaled, long and shaky. "Good. Because I already decided I’m not letting this go."
I smiled faintly. "That sounds ominous."
"It is."
My son nodded solemnly, then wrote one last thing:
Aunty Daddy is scary. But good scary.
My best friend smirked. "See? I have a reputation."
I closed my eyes for a mont, letting their presence steady the spinning world. Their quiet laughter faded when they noticed settle.
"Mommy is resting," she whispered.
"No, I had enough rest," I replied, eyes still closed. "Seriously. All I did was sleep. Now I’m not even sure if it’s the drugs or if I’ve just been sleeping too much."
"Wife?" we both turned to look at the door.
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