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9

TARA

I wake up feeling like I’m drowning.

The first breath burns. My chest rises too high, too fast. I can’t swallow properly. My mouth is dry, like I’ve been breathing dust, and there’s something cold and plastic tucked beneath my nose. The ceiling overhead is painfully white. Too clean. Too bright.

And I’m in an unfamiliar sterile room—hospital? What the fuck am I doing in a hospital?

I try to move, but it’s like my body is wrapped in wet wool. My fingers twitch on the blanket. A warm weight pins my right hand gently down.

But it’s not a strap. Is it a hand?

I manage to move my fingers. Yes, it's a large, warm hand.

I tilt my head slightly. It’s like trying to roll a boulder with my cheekbone. But I manage just enough to see him.

Ruslan.

He’s asleep, folded into an unforgiving chair that’s been dragged right up to the side of the bed. His one arm is across his chest with his hand tucked beneath his arm. The other hand is holding mine, his thumb slack where it once must have been stroking across my knuckles. His mouth is tense even in sleep, jaw clenched like he’s bracing for a fight that hasn’t come yet.

My heart skips. Then stumbles.

Why is he here? Why am I here?

What happened to me?

I blink. And then again. My lashes feel like they’ve been glued together. My brain is a soup of images—none of them sticking. Just pain, heat, voices. A scream. Mine?

I glance down slowly. A hospital gown. Wires. Tubes. The smell of antiseptic and old fear.

Something’s wrong.

In the hallway, I can hear voices. Muffled. Male. Firm.

“...ruptured earlier today. We were able to remove the tissue and irrigate the infection... but her levels are still volatile.”

“She miscarried six months ago,” someone else says. “And no D&C?”

Are they talking about me?I try to crane my neck to see. There’s a group of people with white coats gathered around the door.

They carry on talking as if I’m not even in the room. Do they think I’m still asleep? Fuck, am I still asleep? My brain is fuzzy. It’s like nothing is connecting, and when I try to connect it, it’s painful and too much effort, which I don’t have the energy for.

Oh fuck… have I damaged my brain? Is that why nothing's making sense and I can’t remember… but there is something I have to remember… Something important…

“She likely retained placental fragments. It necrotized slowly. Led to sepsis. They’re lucky they got her here when they did. Another twelve hours…”

They are talking about me. I nearly died because of a… my brain starts to hurt. What the fuck is wrong with my memory? My stomach turns.

What did the doctors just say? Placental fragments? Miscarried? Sepsis?

I turn my face into the pillow, heart hammering against the thin fabric, and look at Ruslan. I don’t understand what’s going on. A miscarriage? Did the doctors say it was a miscarriage?

Did I… did I tell them I miscarried?

No. No, I didn’t. Did I?

I try to remember. The words are there, but buried under layers of morphine and muddled time.