Sophia’s POV
The sun had barely set when my phone rang, cutting through the quiet of my apartment. I glanced at the unfamiliar number on the screen, hesitating. Lately, there had been a rash of prank calls, and I wasn’t in the mood for another one. But something compelled me to answer.
“Hello?” My voice was tentative, wary.
“Miss Sophia? You need to come quickly. Miss Anastasia has been in an accident.”
The voice on the other end was serious, almost urgent. My heart skipped a beat. “Who is this?” I demanded, the fear already clawing at me.
“It’s-someone she did business with. There’s no time to explain. We’re at St. James Hospital. You need to get here now.”
Business? I thought. My mind raced, trying to piece together who it could be. Anastasia had been involved in so many projects lately, but this… this was something different. Before I could ask any more questions, the line went dead.
A message buzzed in immediately after-a picture. My heart sank as I opened it. It was Anastasia’s car, or what was left of it. The once sleek and elegant vehicle was now a mangled wreck, barely recognizable.
A chill ran down my spine. “No, no, no,” I whispered, shaking my head as if that could somehow change what I was seeing. Panic surged through me, and I didn’t even think before I was on my feet, grabbing my keys and rushing out the door.
The drive to the hospital felt like a nightmare. Every red light was an agonizing delay, every second inched by too slowly. When I finally reached the hospital, I practically leaped out of the car, not even bothering to lock it as I sprinted inside.
“Anastasia Winslow-where is she?” I gasped out at the front desk, my voice trembling with fear.
The nurse looked at me with a sympathetic expression. “She’s in surgery. The doctor will be out to speak with you soon.”
Surgery. The word echoed ominously in my mind, making everything seem even more surreal. I was ushered into a waiting room, but I couldn’t sit down. Pacing back and forth, I felt like I was living in some twisted dream, one that I couldn’t wake up from.
It felt like hours before the doctor appeared. He was a tall man with a serious expression, his face etched with the kind of fatigue that only came from long, grueling hours in an operating room.
“Sophia?” he asked, and I nodded, stepping forward, my heart pounding in my chest.
“How is she?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“Anastasia is stable but in critical condition,” he explained, his tone gentle yet firm. “She sustained significant head trauma during the accident. We’ve done all we can, but she’s in a coma now.”
“A coma?” The word seemed foreign, like it didn’t belong in my reality. My legs felt weak, and I had to grip the edge of a nearby chair to keep from collapsing.
The doctor nodded. “Yes. It’s serious. But the next 48 hours will be crucial. We’ll have to wait and see.”
My head was spinning, my thoughts a chaotic mess. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Anastasia. Not to someone as strong, as vibrant as her. How could this be real?
“And… and the baby?” I managed to ask, fear clawing at my throat.
“The baby is fine,” the doctor reassured me, and for a moment, a wave of relief washed over me. “It’s remarkable, actually. Despite the severity of the accident, the child wasn’t harmed. The placenta remained intact, which is incredibly fortunate.”
A tear slipped down my cheek, a mix of overwhelming relief and suffocating sorrow. I was both grateful and devastated, unsure of how to process it all.
“We’ll continue to monitor both of them closely,” the doctor added, his tone somber. “But right now, we need to focus on her recovery.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. There were no words that could capture the turmoil inside me.
I nodded, wiping my tears away as I tried to pull myself together. Strong. I needed to be strong. But how could I be, when everything felt like it was falling apart?
Days passed, and I stayed by Anastasia’s side, visiting her every day. The hospital had become my second home, the beeping of the machines and the soft murmur of the nurses a constant background noise in my life.
Each day I would sit beside her bed, holding her hand and talking to her as if she could hear me. I told her about everything-the little things, the big things-hoping that somehow, my voice would bring her back.
“Come on, Ana,” I whispered one day, my voice breaking. “You can’t leave me here alone. Jamie needs you. I need you. Please, just wake up.”
But there was no response, only the steady rise and fall of her chest, the machines keeping her alive when she couldn’t do it herself.
It wasn’t long before Anastasia’s mother, Mrs. Winslow, arrived. The sight of her broke my heart all over again. She looked so fragile, her eyes red from crying, her whole body trembling as she approached her daughter’s bedside.
She didn’t say a word, just fell to her knees beside the bed, clutching Anastasia’s hand as tears streamed down her face.
“Please, Ana,” she sobbed. “Please wake up. I’ve already lost your father… I can’t lose you too. Please, baby, come back to me.”
The room was filled with her anguished cries, and I had to turn away, the pain too much to bear.
Anastasia’s mother stayed by her side, just as I did, both of us refusing to leave her alone. Days turned into a week, and still, there was no change.
Each day was a painful waiting game, and each day the fear in my heart grew stronger. What if she never woke up? What if Jamie never got to see his mother again?
But no matter how scared I was, I couldn’t let it show. I had to be strong, for Anastasia, for Jamie, for everyone who depended on her.
As I sat there, holding her hand, I made a silent promise. “I’ll be here every day until you wake up, Ana. I won’t leave you. No matter how long it takes, I’ll be right here.”
And I meant it. Even as the days dragged on with no sign of improvement, I kept my promise, staying by her side, praying for a miracle.
Because Anastasia had to wake up. She just had to.
______
It was around the two-week mark when exhaustion had taken its toll on me. I had just come back from a long day, my body aching from the strain of stress and worry. I entered Anastasia’s room, the sight of her lying there, so still and lifeless, hitting me like a punch to the gut.
I set my bag down and quietly approached her bed. Gently, I began to wipe her face with a damp cloth, taking care to clean her forehead and cheeks. It had become a ritual for me, a way to feel connected to her, to care for her in the only way I could.
As I moved to clean her hand, something made me freeze. There was a slight twitch, barely noticeable, but it was there. My breath caught in my throat.
“Ana?” I whispered, my heart pounding. I watched her hand intently, and there it was again-a small, almost imperceptible movement.
Without thinking, I bolted out of the room, my voice echoing through the corridors as I called for the doctor. “Doctor! Doctor, come quickly!”
Hope surged within me, battling against the fear that had been my constant companion. Could it be? Was Anastasia finally coming back to us?