Stephanie's POV

I squint my eyes to get a better look at her. "Mom?" I question in disbelief.

My mother's hand touches my forehead and her skin is cool to the touch. "Oh, my baby!' She exclaims, with tears in her eyes. "I'll be right back!"

I blink in confusion as she disappears. Once she's gone, there's nothing but silence. Silence and…beeping?

I push myself to a sitting position and look all around as the entirety of my vision is returned to me. I'm in…a hospital. Not…not heaven? I wonder in further confusion. Am I dead or not? None of this makes any sense.

A funny sensation exists on my arm and when I glance down, I'm covered in bandages and hooked up to wires. I don't know what any of it does, but the sight of these things freak me out. I yank it all off, throwing my legs over the side of the bed until I'm standing. I immediately regret the decision. I sway on my feet unsteadily and the now loud, forceful beeping makes me wish I was deaf.

I sit – more like collapse – on the edge of the mattress and bury my face in my hands, trying to make the room stop spinning. I feel tears slipping through my fingertips. I don't understand anything that's happening.

"Steph!" Two voices say firmly, but softly. Not my mother's. Instead it's Stacy and and one of our other friends. Another tall bombshell by the name of Torrie Wilson. She's a couple of inches shorter than I am, but still above average height for a woman. Before I can do anything to stop them, they manage to have me lying on the damn bed again.

My mom pops in as soon as they've got me down. I shake my head and mutter, "Blondes everywhere." One – or all of them chuckle. I can't tell; I'm still a bit out of it.

I give up and try to relax into the cushions as what I presume to be a doctor also comes in. He's maybe in his late 30's, but the absence of facial hair makes him appear to be more like a baby. His hair is cropped close, wavy and jet black. His dark brown eyes light up as he says, "Miss McMahon!"

Miss McMahon? Not Mrs. Lerner? Or Mrs. McMahon-Lerner?

Whatever the doctor says next is lost upon me because I bring my left hand to my face, examining it critically. Engagement ring, but no wedding ring. Huh. I'm almost certain that the engagement ring is worth more. Would someone steal that, but not this? My mind is starting to go fuzzy again.

My mother's hand rubs the top of my head affectionately. I don't know why...it's not like she looks a whole lot healthier than me. And I'm the one hooked up to all these godforsaken machines.

"...swelling is gone, but-"

I interrupt the doctor because I wasn't listening to anything he said before. "Swelling?"

He steps forward and outstretches his hand to mine. "I'm Dr. Lawrence Taylor. I've been your attending physician since your fall."

As if on autopilot, I shake his hand. But I blink and ask dumbly, "My...my fall?" That doesn't seem right. When I woke up I had the distinct feeling that I was dying. Had died. And it wasn't from my clumsiness, either.

"Yes, Stephanie," my Mom cuts in. "I signed all of the advance directive paperwork, with you and your brother as my witnesses."

My mom stops short and glances at the doctor. They seem to be communicating in a language that I don't understand. But Dr. Taylor nods for her to go on. "You were both upset with my choices to ah...leave naturally. No machines or medicines. We all argued. Shane snatched the papers and tried to destroy them, but even you felt that wasn't right. You went to grab them from him and you slipped and hit your head. You were knocked out cold."

I understand what she just said. I was listening. But I still don't comprehend. It feels so contrary to the rush of emotions I had when I woke up.

My mom sniffles in an attempt to fight back her tears. Stacy – I completely forgot she was here – steps forward and produces a few tissues for her.

Dr. Taylor continues the story. "We were concerned about the lack of consciousness," he begins.

"How long was I out?"

At this, he fiddles with my chart, almost is if he's afraid to answer me. He clears his throat and presses on. "Initially, just for a few minutes. When you came around, you were throwing up and extremely disoriented. You wouldn't comply and we worried about potential brain swelling and that your increasing agitation would have you hurt yourself worse."

My mouth parts and I gape at him. Well damn. I really do hate hospitals. I have ever since I was a little kid. If I was already confused and injured, I can't say I'm surprised that I was resistant to treatment. But I'm also stuck on the fact that Dr. Taylor hasn't answered my question. What he did say is just as important as what he didn't. "Initially?" I ask.

"Yes, well...we induced a coma. You were completely under for 6 days. We waited until there was a full 48 hours with no swelling before we reduced your medication and weaned you off the ventilator."

Ventilator. Right. Because I was in a coma and couldn't breathe on my own. What in the living fuck? I want to be mad that these people shoved tubes all over me. I want to rage at my mother, brother, father or whomever authorized this. But then again...unlike my mother I do not have an advance directive stating what should be done when I can't speak for myself. And at any rate, it seems like I'm mostly fine. They may have saved me from major brain damage. I relax again, uncurling my hands from the fists they'd been in.

"When did all of this happen?" I ask, rubbing my head...I'm halfway expecting to feel a dent, protrusion or for my hand to end up with a pint of blood on it. But there's nothing to indicate my life was ever in that much danger.

Dr. Taylor glances at my chart briefly. "10 days ago. Once you were completely off of the barbiturates it took a full day for you to wake up at all. Since then you've been in and out of consciousness...able to hold a longer conversation each time."

I nod hollowly. I've lost 10 days of my life but it feels like so much longer. Like I've lived for months or even a year and didn't know it. I guess that can happen when you're completely unconscious and unable to move, speak or interact with the outside world. My mind's been playing tricks on me. But I still can't help but ask, "There wasn't anything else abnormal in my tests?"

Everyone in the room stares at me oddly. Because I sound like I already know the answer to that question. Still, Dr. Taylor shakes his head in the negative.

"Nope," he says, dismissing the notion. "We ran dozens of labs just in case there was another reason you'd fallen unconscious. You've got nothing to worry about. You're the portrait of perfect health, Stephanie. You can go home in a day or so if you promise me a few things."

"Name it," I answer quickly. The sooner I can leave, the better.

"Your friends have already told me I can't keep you from working unless I sedate you. I don't want to do that. So, take it easy and I'll give you an actual medical release."

This earns knowing smiles from everyone and an actual laugh from Stacy. She knows firsthand what I workaholic I can be at times. Being out of the loop of our company for so long makes me uncomfortable. But the fact that I know Stacy and her capabilities well keeps me from becoming horrified that she's been left along to run things. I nod at Dr. Taylor and wait for him to continue.

"Forgive your brother. He didn't mean for this to happen. He's moped around this hospital daily."

That's an easy one. Shane would never intentionally hurt me. I nod and wait for the next request.

Dr. Taylor cracks an amused smile and pats my shoulder in sympathy. "Stop being such a klutz!"

My mouth drops open in shock as everyone in the room laughs. "Hey!" I reply indignantly to the doctor's retreating form. I pin each of the women in the room with a glare. One of them must have mentioned my tendency towards tripping and falling over things.

Mom glances over at my friends and asks in the ultra-polite, quiet voice of hers, "Can I have a minute with Steph?"

Both women nod and flash smiles at me before exiting. Once we're alone, my Mom sits at the edge of my bed. Gingerly. She's not nearly as well as she pretended to be when everyone was here. I reach for her hand and grasp it between mine as firmly as I can. Not being able to move or exercise has made me lose some of my strength, that's for certain.

"How are you, Steph? Really." She insists.

I chuckle a little. Looks who's talking. "I should be asking you that."

Her petite shoulders lift in a modest shrug. "Nothing we can do about that. You were a different story, though."

I tilt my head to the side and study my mother. We've both got blue eyes...but I've been told that mine sparkle with the wonders and excitement of the world, more or less. My mother's? Even when she's making poor decisions there's always been wisdom...a kind of rare knowledge hidden behind hers. At this moment I'm just a little more sensitive to it since she's speaking so oddly. "I don't understand."

"Stephanie...you're ruining your life because of me. Because of what happened between your father and I and all of my mistakes since then. I had to fix it."

A dull ache has already begun in my head. Whether that's from my fall, the information overload of the last twenty minutes or my mother's crazy talk, I'm really not sure. "Huh?" I ask, surprised when it comes out somewhat intelligently.

My Mom sighs and directs her gaze to the wall. I don't know what to say to her. I don't even know what she's talking about at this point so I just stay quiet even though she's clearly upset.

"Vince and I," she starts quietly. "We were...stagnant. Not happy, nor unhappy. I suggested that we...well, separate for a bit. Test the waters. He didn't want to. He worried it'd confuse you and Shane so we agreed to keep it from you. We'd both live in the house and our routines in it would remain unchanged."

"You..." I trail off, not having words for what I've just been told. Not having words for what I have been told my entire life apparently having been a minimal fraction of the truth.

"I pushed your Dad. I did. I dated this guy – didn't even really like him that much. But I figured it'd light a fire under Vince. Get him to try harder to appreciate me...notice me. Bring some romance and companionship back into our marriage."

I bite down on my lip so hard that it hurts. I'm clenching my hands again but I can't stop myself. "Did it work?" I ask spitefully. I already know the answer. I see where this long-overdue story is going.

"No. It sent him right to his current wife."

I shut my eyes tightly, willing myself not to cry. This...admission of hers. I don't know what to do with it. All of her pestering and needling me about finding a good man. The way I've approached my dating life and seen men in general.

God – I realize, the bile rising up in my throat...the relationship that Shane and I have with our Dad, his wife and our little brother. All of it was rooted in a lie. Does my mother know the extent of the damage that she's done to us?

I look at her then. Yes, she does. Her eyes are clouded with remorse.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," she says lowly.

"Yeah?" I ask. "Well, you've got it anyway." I don't know how or why, but whatever I've experienced in the last 10 days is enough to not make me dwell on the past. To make me want to live each and every moment to its fullest. To be happy; my version of happy and not someone else's.

My mom nods and a tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly and leans in to kiss my cheek. Regardless of her lies, this is still my mother. The only mother that I'll ever have and I know that I won't have her for much longer. Plus, all these years my Dad didn't bother defending himself against my Mom's version of the events. He's nearly as guilty as she is. I can't let their dishonesty send me right back into a state necessitating a drug-induced coma. If he hadn't felt guilty on some level, Dad would have told Shane and I the truth.

I sigh loudly and fiddle with the engagement ring on my finger. Talking about Alex seems wrong...everything about us is wrong, really. I know that I don't love him. I was only marrying him to please my Mom. That no longer seems necessary, smart, nor pleasing to her. Plus he's hiding something big from me. I woke up from my coma with that knowledge. But the details are hazy.

I did marry him. In my coma. I know that much. I haven't made that mistake yet in reality. At least I don't think so.

My mom's hand reaches out and stills my fidgeting ones. "That doesn't belong on you," she says.

"How do you know that?" I ask, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I'm a Mom. We have powers. We know things."

"Huh," I reply. That explains everything and nothing at all.

"Besides, if I couldn't see it months ago I sure can see it now: you don't love the guy."

I swallow hard and slide the ring off my finger. Though it hardly weighed a thing, I feel like I've taken the world off of my shoulders. I'm free now. Not that Alex ever did anything to make me feel trapped. It's just a feeling that I can't explain. I place the ring in the palm of my Mom's hand. "Tell Shane he can make this hospitalization up to me by telling Alex the wedding's off."

My mom chuckles a little. "I'm sure he'll jump at that opportunity. Rest, now dear. You've been through so much."

I don't bother arguing with her because she's right. I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. Almost as soon as my head touches the pillow, I feel myself nodding off. I wonder what I will dream this time, if anything.

This chapter was originally longer, but I decided to shift it over into the has-been-written-for-three-years-already epilogue. Except that the epi is written in 3rd person. So now I'll have to shift the added bit into that POV or shift the epi to first person. Whatever I do, I expect to have it up within a few hours. LOL.

Until then? Drop the thoughts on me! :)