Rena
The hospital walls felt like they were closing in on me after seven endless days. The sterile scent of disinfectant had become so familiar I wondered if I'd ever wash it from my skin.
I stared at the ceiling tiles, counting them for perhaps the hundredth time. Twenty-four across, sixteen down. My hands drifted to my belly—a gesture that had become instinctive since the accident.
"Still there," I whispered, feeling for any flutter, any sign of the life growing inside me. "We made it."
The doctor had said it was a miracle. The fall should have—could have—ended everything. But somehow, we survived. Both of us.
Almost dying changes you. The terrifying moments at the cabin, the blood, the panic in Armani's eyes as he carried me through the snow... They replayed in my mind like a film
