Chapter 4

When I woke up, I was truly looking at her.

Mom was sitting at my bedside, her face pale, like a sleeping angel.

But she looked so worn out, with dark circles under her eyes and a faint shadow of exhaustion across her face.

I froze.

Was Heaven really that hard on her too?

My hand reached out before I even realized it, gently touching Mom's face. She woke up with a start, her eyes meeting mine in shock.

"Abigail!" she cried, tears streaming down her face, falling onto the blanket. "I thought you were never going to wake up."

The pain in my tongue snapped me back to reality, and I managed to croak out a few words. "Aren't we in heaven?"

Mom blinked, then burst out laughing, wiping away her tears. "Silly girl, you're still alive. We're in a hospital."

I could hardly process what she was saying. I touched her hand—warm, real.

It was the best news I could ever get.

I cried and laughed at the same time.

Mom looked at me, heartbroken, and moved to hug me, but the moment her hand brushed my back, I flinched and pushed her away, like a frightened bird.

She looked at me quietly, her gaze heavy, and after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice soft.

"When you were unconscious, I saw you," she said.

I dropped my head, filled with guilt. I wanted to apologize, to say I was sorry for not listening to her, for not taking care of myself the way she wanted.

Bella always found ways to torment me—little things that no one would notice.

She'd leave marks where others couldn't see, on my chest, my back, even my thighs.

Some of the scratches were from her nails, others from broken glass or sharp knives.

She knew I wouldn't dare tell Dad or Ethan.

Even if they found out, they'd just say it was normal for someone like me, someone who lost their mom and got no love, to hurt themselves.

Mom's hand gently traced the marks on my body, and she spoke, almost to herself, her voice breaking. "My Abigail, how did you end up like this?"

Ten years ago, I was stubborn and spoiled. I honestly believed my parents would give me anything—hand me the moon if I wanted it.

But now? Now, even the slightest sound makes me flinch, makes me tremble.

Mom was still the same gentle soul, but I was already shattered, like a vase smashed beyond repair.

Would she still love me like this?

Seeing my hesitation, Mom wiped away the last of her tears and began telling me about the years she'd spent away.

It turned out, ten years ago, Mom hadn't been swept off the cliff.

Instead, she had washed up on a different part of the coast, where a kind soul had saved her.

But during her journey, she had hit some rocks, and when she woke up, she had lost all her memories.

For the past ten years, she had wandered, enduring hardships she'd never experienced before, until recently when pieces of her past began to return.

She remembered her family—her husband and children—and rushed back home.

She had planned to surprise us. But when she walked in the door, she found me, unconscious on the floor, bleeding.

And yet, Dad and Ethan hadn't even noticed. They were too busy celebrating another young girl's birthday.

Mom's desperate cry was drowned out by the cheers of the guests. Alone, she had carried me out and called for an ambulance.

I bet Dad and Ethan still didn't know Mom was back by then.

I realized then, as Mom told me all this, that her hands were rough, callused from years of hard labor.

The woman who used to struggle with opening a bottle cap now had the strength to carry me—someone her own weight—across miles.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I threw myself into her arms, crying uncontrollably. "Mom, you're finally back."

I cried for so long, it felt like I was letting out all the pain, all the years of suffering I had swallowed down.

Mom wiped my tears and smiled gently, "At least we're both alive, and you've grown up, Abigail. I'm so proud of you."

She reached over and picked up a small cake from the side, lighting the candles. Then, she sang the birthday song for me, her voice full of warmth and love.

She hugged me. "My little princess, happy 18th birthday!"

I held back tears as I blew out the candles, silently making a wish: I just wanted to stay with Mom and never be separated from her again.

After the candles flickered out, Mom gently took my hand, her voice soft. "Abigail, I know about the things they've done to you. We'll leave here and never see them again, okay?"

I was about to nod when the door to the hospital room suddenly flew open, and Dad rushed in, out of breath. "Honey, where are you going?"