Chapter 2: A Rose After the Storm

Pain crashed over me again, snapping me out of my memories.

It was sudden, sharp—like lightning splitting the sky. I gasped, clutching the sheets, sweat breaking out across my forehead.

It felt like I was being torn apart. Finally, I heard the faint cry of a newborn.

The sound was thin, uncertain, but it cut through the haze. I wanted to reach for him, but my arms wouldn’t move. Please, let me hold him.

My whole body went cold, my mind a blur.

Everything felt distant, muffled, as if I were underwater. I tried to focus, but the world kept slipping away.

"Quick, get the gauze—push oxytocin…"

Voices swirled around me, urgent and panicked. I drifted in and out, clinging to the sound of my baby’s cries.

As I drifted in and out, a hand grabbed my shoulder.

The grip was firm, grounding me. I tried to open my eyes, but they were too heavy.

"Don't sleep. If you sleep, you won't wake up! Don't you want to see your baby?"

The voice was desperate, pleading. I wanted to answer, but the words wouldn’t come.

I was afraid to look.

Fear rooted me in place. I didn’t want to see what I might have to leave behind.

Afraid I wouldn't be able to let go.

Letting go felt impossible. I’d spent so long preparing to say goodbye, but now I wasn’t sure I could.

Couldn't let go of the baby.

Couldn't let go of Ethan.

When I woke again, Ethan was sleeping by my bedside. A single rose sat on the nightstand.

The room was quiet, filled with soft morning light. Ethan’s head rested on his folded arms, his breath slow and even. The rose glowed in the sunlight—a splash of color against the sterile white. Maybe things could change.

The slightest movement woke him. He looked up, exhausted and anxious, a shadow of stubble on his chin.

He blinked, eyes wide with relief, and reached for my hand. I could see the worry etched into his face, the sleepless nights catching up to him.

He gripped my hand tightly, his eyes filled with relief and joy.

His fingers trembled as he held mine, as if he was afraid I’d slip away again.

"You're finally awake. You've slept all day."

His voice was thick with emotion, and I realized how close I’d come to leaving him behind.

"When I got the call, you were already in labor. I'm sorry I couldn't be there the whole time…"

He looked down, guilt written all over his face. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but the words stuck in my throat.

So that scent of burnt sage before I blacked out wasn't a dream after all. I really thought I'd imagined it.

I remembered the way his scent had wrapped around me, grounding me when everything else was chaos.

Ethan really was a good man—not only had he not forgotten me, he'd even brought a rose.

I reached for the flower, brushing my fingers over the petals. It was perfect—simple, honest, just like him.

Just one, but it was beautiful, brighter than the sun outside the window.

It was the kind of rose you remembered for the rest of your life, the kind that made you believe in second chances.

I gently slipped my hand from his and turned my head to look out the window.

The sky was clear, the world outside bright and full of promise. I let the silence stretch, savoring the peace.

I couldn’t help myself. I said,

"The weather's so nice. It feels like a good day to go out."

My voice was soft, almost wistful. I wasn’t sure what I meant—maybe I just wanted to feel alive again.

Ethan paused, thinking I wanted to leave the hospital.

He sat up straighter, concern flickering in his eyes. “You want to go outside? We can do that—just say the word.”

"When you're better, let's go out together—the three of us, as a family."

He smiled, hope shining in his eyes. For a moment, I let myself believe it could happen.

A family of three. What a warm phrase.

The words wrapped around me like a blanket, soothing the ache in my chest.

So warm, it almost made me believe I really was family with Ethan.

I wanted to hold on to that feeling, just for a little while longer.

I looked down, worrying my lower lip.

I tried to smile, but it felt fragile, like it might break if I wasn’t careful. I wasn’t sure I could.

"Maybe later."

I needed time—time to heal, time to figure out who I was without all the baggage.

My job was done. Mom's illness should be cured by now. After a few more days in bed, I'd take her traveling, let her experience all the things she'd missed out on.

I pictured us on a road trip, windows down, music blaring. Sun on our faces, wind in our hair. I wanted to give her the world, even if it was just for a little while.

She'd be so happy.

I imagined her smile, the way her eyes would light up at every new adventure. It was the least I could do.

And so would I.

I’d finally be free—free to live, to love, to hope.

My arrival had thrown too many lives off course—Ethan and Noah, forced apart; Mrs. Lin, who'd waited for Harrison Whitmore her whole life; and my poor mother…

Sometimes I wondered if things would’ve been better if I’d never come back. But regrets were useless now.

Ethan opened a thermos, poured out a bowl of soup, and brought a spoonful to my lips after blowing on it.

He was careful, gentle, the way you’d be with something fragile. I let him feed me. Too tired to argue.

"The baby was premature and is still in the incubator. You need to eat more to get your strength back. In a couple days, I'll take you to see him, okay?"

His voice was soft, encouraging. I nodded, pretending to be braver than I felt.

I nodded, but as soon as the soup touched my mouth, I couldn't help but throw it all up.

My stomach twisted, and I barely made it to the trash can. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. Great. Just great.

Ethan, not caring about the mess, stared at me anxiously.

He hovered nearby, worry etched into every line of his face. “Jamie, are you alright?”

"Do you not like it? Are you feeling sick? I'll call the doctor—"

He fumbled for his phone, ready to call for help. I grabbed his sleeve, stopping him.

I hesitated for a long time, then finally spoke up.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to say what I really wanted.

"I want some cake."

The words came out small, almost childish, but I meant them.

"Cake?"

He looked surprised, as if he’d never heard of such a simple request before.

"Yeah."

I nodded, a little embarrassed. “Just a slice. Doesn’t matter what kind.”

All I’d wanted that day was cake—even a cupcake.

It was such a small thing, but it meant everything. I’d built the whole day around it, and it had all gone wrong.

When it was my birthday, Mom could only afford to buy me cupcakes.

We’d sit on the fire escape, splitting a single cupcake between us, pretending it was a feast. The city lights flickered below us.

After she got sick, there was no one left to buy them for me.

The bakery down the street closed, and birthdays just became another day.

I'd wanted to have birthday cake with Ethan, but he was busy, so I settled for a whole cake by myself.

I’d eaten it alone in the kitchen, the silence heavy around me. It wasn’t the same.

He immediately called someone. Soon, all sorts of cakes were lined up in front of me.

He made a few quick calls, and within an hour, the room was filled with boxes—chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, every flavor you could imagine. It was almost too much.

Ethan looked at me like he was showing off a treasure.

He arranged the cakes on the table, beaming with pride. “Take your pick, Jamie. Anything you want.”

"Which one do you want? I remember you like the green grape one."

He remembered—a small detail, but it meant the world to me.

I nodded, eating until I was stuffed, but still didn't want to stop.

I let myself indulge, savoring every bite. For once, I didn’t hold back.