The characters in this fanfic are not my creations but belong to their original author, Jess Cantrell, author of the Gray Matter Series.
While I strive to remain true to my perception of these characters, I may occasionally write pieces that could seem out of character. Please read with grace.
Dana woke up with a sleepy smile plastered across her face, the warmth of the previous night still lingering in her thoughts. The circus had been a whirlwind of laughter and delight. Grey had been boisterous, his laughter louder than the circus clowns themselves, while Sammy had bounced excitedly from lap to lap, squealing with joy at every new sight. Dana could still hear his infectious giggles, could still picture his wide eyes as the elephants plodded in lazy circles. The walk home had been equally pleasant, filled with light banter and easy silence. Stephen had hung back with her, their conversation flowing effortlessly as Grey and Sammy surged ahead, kicking stones and racing each other down the path. Sammy had grown drowsy on the way, and when he became too tired to walk, Stephen had effortlessly scooped him up, carrying him the rest of the way home.
The evening had ended on a sweet note, with Stephen gently putting Sammy to bed and the two of them lingering on the porch afterward. The night air had been cool and crisp, and they had spoken for nearly an hour, their conversation dipping between idle chatter and more animated exchanges, until, eventually, they had fallen into comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.
Dana smiled again, savoring the memory as she moved about her morning routine. After dressing and fixing her hair into the elaborate updo that society demanded, she made her way downstairs to prepare lunch for her and Samuel. It was nearly noon, and Sammy still hadn't woken up—a pattern that had become familiar to her, given the trauma his body was still healing from.
Her mind wandered back to Stephen and his warm presence last night, and she found herself thinking about what Anna had said days before. He's pursuing you, Dana, Samantha had teased, her words playful but undeniably suggestive. At the time, Dana had brushed it off, but now… she glanced at the small bouquet of flowers Stephen had brought her the day before. Was there some truth to the girl's cheeky gossip?
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside as she went to wake Samuel. "Time to get up, Sammy," she called softly, giving him a light shake. When he didn't stir, she tried again, this time with more insistence. "Come on, love, it's noon. We've got the whole day ahead."
But Sammy didn't move.
Her heart skipped a beat as she gently rolled him over. His face was pale, his little body disturbingly still, and when she opened his eyelids, her blood ran cold. His pupils were blown wide, unresponsive to the light. Her stomach clenched. "Oh God," she whispered, her voice trembling as she noticed the vomit staining his shirt. His breath was shallow, his head warm—too warm.
Panic seized her. "Sammy," she cried, running her fingers up his sternum now. "Sammy, wake up!"
But there was no response.
Her mind raced, and she immediately lifted him into her arms. He felt limp and heavy, far too heavy for her to carry all the way to the hospital on her own. She clutched him tightly and carried him to the top of the stairs before setting him down; she ran down the stairs, and burst out the door, her skirts gathered in her fists as she sprinted down the street toward the hospital, her heart thundering in her chest.
When she reached the hospital, she was gasping for breath, her legs burning from the exertion. "Where's Dr. Reyburn?" she demanded, grabbing the nearest nurse.
"He's in surgery with Dr. Martin," the nurse replied, eyeing Dana with concern.
"I need him," Dana panted, her voice cracking with desperation.
"Dr. Martin's in the middle of an operation. You'll have to wait—"
"I don't care!" Dana's voice rose as she shoved past the nurse, her feet carrying her toward the operating room. She ignored the protests behind her, her only focus on getting to Stephen. When she burst into the room, Dr. Martin looked up, clearly startled by her intrusion. "What are you doing?"
"Dana—" Stephen began, but she cut him off, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a frantic rush.
"Stephen, it's Sammy. He won't wake up. His pupils aren't responding, he's vomited, and he's unconscious."
Dr. Martin raised an eyebrow, his expression hardening. "Sounds like brain swelling," he muttered, before glancing at Stephen. "Go. I can handle this."
Stephen didn't have time to be surprised by Dr. Martin's choice to let him go. Without hesitation, Stephen stripped off his surgical gloves and rushed out of the room, following Dana's lead.
"Go, you're quicker than me!" Dana encouraged him.
He sprinted ahead of her to her house, bolting through the door and up the stairs to where Sammy lay.
He quickly lifted the boy onto the examination table in Dana's office, his movements precise and deliberate. A few quick tests confirmed his worst fear. Brain swelling. He cursed under his breath. It was his fault. He should have monitored Sammy more closely. He'd assumed they were in the clear, but now the boy was at risk of losing his life.
"Dana," he called, rushing into the hallway where she stood, her face pale and streaked with tears.
"I can't—" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't do this, Stephen. I can't lose him."
"Dana, I need you right now. Sammy needs you."
Dana hadn't allowed herself the luxury of fully processing what was happening, but now, as the weight of the situation bore down on her, she began to crumble. Her breath came in ragged gasps, a sob tearing through her throat as the reality of Samuel's condition hit her like a freight train. This small boy, who had somehow become the center of her world, might not wake up. The thought clawed at her insides, twisting and warping her sense of control until it shattered entirely.
"I can't—I'm not in the place to help," she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled over. She could hardly get the words out, shaking her head as if denying the truth could change it.
Stephen stepped closer, his eyes locking with hers. He didn't say anything for a moment, just gently cupped her face with both hands, grounding her in the way only he could. "Dana," his voice was steady but soft, "listen to me carefully. I know you're scared. I know this feels like it's slipping out of control. But right now, I need you; I can't do this alone."
"Okay… okay," she managed, forcing her breaths to even out, though they still trembled with every exhale. She wiped her face, her hands shaking as she took one more shuddering breath. "I'll help."
Numbly, Dana moved into action, forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand as she mixed the anesthesia from the scant supplies she had left. Her movements were mechanical, her mind screaming at her to focus even as her heart threatened to break. She couldn't lose him. She just couldn't. Everything with the anesthetic had to be so exact, especially dealing with children.
Stephen's hands worked with precision, but his mind was a maelstrom of guilt and panic. He cursed himself with every cut, every moment that passed where Sammy's life hung in the balance. He should have seen this coming, should have anticipated the swelling. It was his fault for not monitoring Sammy more closely after the surgery. Every decision he made seemed to lead them closer to this moment, and now, with a small piece of skull removed to relieve the pressure, the boy's life was on a knife's edge.
He adjusted the metal plate, his hands moving with the kind of steadiness that came from years of practice, but his mind was a storm. Every time his scalpel touched flesh, he felt the weight of Dana's trust bearing down on him, mingled with his own crushing guilt.
Everything around them seemed muted. The soft wheeze of restrained sobs filled the small space, the ticking of the clock in the corner marking each agonizing second. He could hear her shallow breathing as she held Sammy's hand, as if sheer force of will would tether the boy to life.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Stephen closed the incision, but the tension didn't ease. They stood there, side by side, staring at the small body before them, waiting. Sammy remained unconscious, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only sign that he was still hanging on.
Dana's fingers gripped Sammy's tiny hand, her knuckles white as she clung to him. Her tears were silent now, but they didn't stop. She stroked his hand with her thumb, willing him to wake up, begging him in broken whispers that spilled from her lips like prayers.
Stephen watched her from across the room. He should have protected her from this, should have been able to save the boy without this level of fear and anguish. And yet, here they were, standing in the aftermath of something that had gone so horribly wrong. In his head, he knew that this was normal for brain surgery, that things like this could happen, but he couldn't help but feel guilt. He couldn't bring himself to comfort her, knowing that every reassuring word would feel like an unsure lie.
"I don't know if he's going to wake up." The words felt like an admission of his own failures. He didn't know if he was saying it to prepare her or to absolve himself from the guilt that had burrowed deep inside him.
Dana sat beside the table, gripping Samuel's tiny hand as if holding him tighter could somehow pull him back. Her thumb traced small, desperate circles on the back of his hand, her tear-streaked face catching the last light of the setting sun. She couldn't bring herself to let go, her fingers trembling as though releasing him might make this nightmare real.
"I should leave you two…"
"Don't," she cut him off, her voice thin but sharp. "Please stay. I need you to stay."
Stephen nodded without hesitation. "Of course. Whatever you need."
They sat together in the quiet, watching as Samuel's shallow breaths continued, the boy remaining still, unmoved. Each breath felt like both a blessing and a curse—proof that he was alive but also a reminder of how fragile that thread was. Dana spoke softly to him in fits, her voice cracking, a constant stream of apologies and pleas for him to be okay.
Stephen's chest tightened with every word she said, but he couldn't find the strength to interrupt. She was unraveling, and yet, there was something raw and sacred about watching her fight against the helplessness.
After hours of murmured begging and broken prayers, Dana leaned forward, her head resting against Samuel's small body, as if trying to shield him from a world she couldn't control. "I never thought I'd be this scared," she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. "I've handled so much death, even family members…"
Stephen, still at her side, stayed silent. He didn't need to speak; she needed to be heard, not answered.
She finally raised her head and looked at him, her eyes hollowed by worry. "You know, I never planned on being a mother. I didn't even think about it. All I ever wanted was to help people, to make a difference. So I became a doctor. And That was enough for me… or at least I thought it was.
I thought if I just focused on saving people, I wouldn't need anything else. But now…" Her voice broke, a rawness in her confession that left her vulnerable. "Now I see it wasn't just about helping people. It's about loving them. It's about someone who needs you, and you give everything you have, even when it's not enough."
Her words settled deep. He'd seen Dana strong, determined, relentless. But seeing her absolutely vulnerable with him—was something else entirely. He cleared his throat softly, choosing his words carefully. "You are an incredible mother, Dana."
She flinched slightly at the compliment, shaking her head. "But what if he dies?"
Stephen reached across the table, his hand meeting hers. Her fingers were cold, trembling against his, but she didn't pull away. "If he dies," Stephen began, his voice gentle but steady, "then you'll still have been the best thing that God put in his life. You've loved him more in this short time than he's probably ever known. That's not something that goes away, even if…" His voice trailed off. "Even if he doesn't stay.
You've given him everything. Dana Whitechurch, you are a good mother."
