Author´s note: First, thank you so much for reading this story and for taking the time to join me on this journey. I'm incredibly grateful for all of you who have read, left reviews, and supported my previous stories. I've been so amazed and humbled by the kind words and thoughtful feedback you've shared—it means the world to me.
This story, however, is deeply personal to me. It was born during a very dark time in my life back in 2023. Writing it felt like a way to process emotions I giving closure to some of them. This is a story about loss, about the people we love and how they remain with us even after they're gone. It's about a love that transcends the barriers of time, space, and even the metaphysical. And most importantly, it's about how we carry that love with us as we move forward, even when it feels impossible.
I hope that as you read this story, it resonates with you in some way. Whether it brings you comfort, hope, or simply an emotional connection to the characters, my only wish is that it touches your heart.
Thank you again for being here and for giving this story a chance. Your support means more than I can ever put into words.
The room at St. Sebastian Hospital was quiet except for the faint hum of machines and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. The sterile scent of antiseptics hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting. Kate sat slouched in the chair beside the bed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed, trying to steal a moment of rest. Her body ached from weeks of sleepless nights and endless worry, but she didn't care. She couldn't afford to care—not when her son's life had been hanging by a thread for twenty-three endless days.
David lay motionless, his chest rising and falling in perfect sync with the ventilator that kept him alive. Every time she glanced at his pale, lifeless face, the fear would claw its way back into her chest, cold and suffocating.
For three weeks, this room and this hospital had become her world. The chair by his bed, her home. She barely left, save for quick trips to the cafeteria or a walk to clear her head when the walls felt too close. Sleep came only in fragmented bursts, stolen moments of exhaustion when her body couldn't take anymore.
Her friends had come to support her. Claire, sitting by her side for hours, holding her hand when Kate couldn't hold back the tears anymore. James had brought snacks, water and a blanket, insisting she eat something, even if it was just a granola bar.
Aaron had been a constant presence, too. At 18, he was no longer the little boy she had once raised, but he still felt like her son. He'd visit the hospital almost every day after school, dropping his bag in the corner and flopping into the chair across from her. He was always trying to make her laugh, joking that David would wake up just to tell him to stop losing their rank in Valorant. But she could see the worry in Aaron's eyes, the way he glanced at David and then quickly looked away, frustrated, like he couldn't bear to see his little brother like this.
Even Margo, Jack's mother, had flown in despite her age. The first time she stepped into the room, she had broken down in tears at the sight of her grandson lying unconscious. She had held Kate tightly and whispered, "He's strong, like his father. He'll make it through this."
Kate had nodded, but her heart didn't feel strong. It felt like it was breaking a little more every day.
Twenty-three days had passed since her son's world—and her own—had been shattered in an instant. The doctors had called it a miracle that he'd survived at all. Politraumas, they'd said. Broken ribs, a fractured arm, and a concussion. But it was his breathing—or the lack of it—that had been the real danger.
When he arrived at the hospital, his oxygen levels had been dangerously low. There was too much damage, too much risk. So, they'd made the decision to put him into a medically induced coma. "It's the safest approach." The doctors had assured her. "We need to give his body time to heal."
The doctors had assured her that David's MRI scans were clean, that there was no significant brain damage, and that he just needed time. But time had become her enemy. Every day that passed felt heavier than the last, the fear growing like a storm cloud that she couldn't escape.
And then there was the guilt.
Kate couldn't stop replaying the moments that led to the accident. David had taken her car without asking—something so reckless, so unlike him. She wanted to be angry at him, to yell and demand answers, but the anger never came. All she could feel was guilt. Maybe if she'd been more attentive, if she'd noticed the restlessness in him earlier, this wouldn't have happened. He was supposed to trust her—she was his mother. It was her responsibility to guide him, to show him how to make the right choices. So where had she failed? What had she done wrong?
She had already lost everything good in her life—her mom, Tom, Kevin, and then the family she'd built with Jack and Aaron. After Claire had finally received the proper mental treatment she needed, Aaron had gone back to live with her while he was still just a little boy. Losing David too? The thought was unbearable. It pulled her into dark, suffocating places she wasn't sure she could escape from alive.
She had spent most nights in this room, praying silently to a God she wasn't even sure she believed in anymore. She repeated the same prayers she had learned in primary school over and over again, but none of them seemed to help. Still, she clung to them, hoping that maybe some entity in the sky would hear her and decide to finally help her.
"Please," She'd whisper to the sky. "don't take him too. I wont survive this."
Tonight, like every other night, she sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if her touch alone could tie him to the world. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep, but she refused to close them, afraid she might miss the rise and fall of his chest.
Then, it happened.
The smallest flicker of movement—his fingers, curling ever so slightly. Kate's head shot up, her heart leaping into her throat.
"David?" She whispered, leaning forward.
The monitors beeped faster as his eyelids fluttered, struggling against their weight. His lips parted as if he were trying to speak, but no sound came out. Kate's pulse raced.
"David, honey, it's Mom. I'm here." Her voice cracked, as tears welled in her eyes. She reached for his hand, wrapping it gently in hers, a promise that she wasn't going anywhere.
His eyes opened, unfocused and hazy, darting around the room before landing on her. He blinked, confused, his brow furrowing as if trying to piece together where he was.
"Mom?"
The word didn't come out. His lips moved faintly, but no sound escaped. The endotracheal tube in his throat silenced him, making his efforts painful to watch.
Kate leaned closer, tears already blurring her vision. "Oh my God, you're awake." She reached for the call button and pressed it frantically." It's okay, sweetheart. I'm right here." She brushed her trembling fingers across his forehead, a wave of relief and fear washing over her.
The door swung open as a nurse rushed in, followed closely by a doctor.
Dr. Erika Stevenson, a neurosurgeon and one of Jack's former colleagues, had been in charge of David's care throughout his coma. After Jack's disappearance, she had stepped into his role at the hospital and had personally decided to oversee David's case when he was admitted after the accident. Kate trusted her completely and felt comforted knowing that a familiar face—a woman, a friend, and someone who had known Jack so closely—was taking care of their son. She knew David couldn't be in better hands.
"He's waking up." Kate stammered. "He— he's moving."
Dr. Stevenson nodded, quickly assessing the situation. "Let's check if he's capable of breathing on his own." She turned to Kate, her voice calm but firm. "Kate, we need a moment. Please step back."
Kate hesitated but obeyed, moving aside as the medical team surrounded David.
The nurse leaned over him, her tone soothing. "David, can you hear me? We're going to check how well you're breathing, okay? Try to stay calm."
He nodded, a single, frightened tear sliding down his face.
The team adjusted the settings on the ventilator, allowing David to attempt breathing on his own while carefully monitoring his oxygen levels and heart rate.
Kate watched helplessly, her heart pounding as David's chest rose and fell irregularly. He groaned softly, his fingers twitching against the crisp hospital sheets.
"He's trying." The nurse murmured, keeping her eyes on the monitors. A tense minute passed before Dr. Stevenson gave a small nod of approval.
"His breathing looks strong enough." She said. "Let's proceed with extubation."
The nurse returned to David's side. "David, we're going to remove the tube now. It might feel uncomfortable, but I need you to stay as still as you can. Can you try to relax for me?"
David groaned, his body stiffening as the nurse carefully adjusted the equipment. The doctor explained the process to Kate, but the words blurred together in her mind. All she could focus on was her son—the slight twitch of his fingers, the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.
Finally, with a steady hand, the nurse slid the tube out of David's throat. He coughed violently, his chest heaving as he sucked in his first unassisted breath in weeks.
"Easy, sweetheart." Kate said, rushing to his side as soon as the doctor finished checking his reaction and vitals. Her trembling hands cupped his face, her fingers brushing against his cheeks reassuring herself that he was really there, awake and breathing. A sob escaped her lips, and her tears began to fall freely, streaking down her face in waves of relief and overwhelming emotion. "You're okay." She whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm right here, baby. I'm right here."
A couple of minutes passed since the tube was removed, and David was breathing on his own again. His chest rose and fell unevenly as his body adjusted to the effort, each breath a mixture of relief and discomfort. His throat burned, raw from the weeks of intubation, and he swallowed instinctively, grimacing at the dry, scraping sensation.
He tried to speak, but only a faint rasp came out, barely audible. Frustration flickered in his eyes, and he licked his cracked lips, signaling his need. "Thirsty." He whispered hoarsely, the single word strained and fragile.
The nurse at his side offered him a reassuring smile. "We'll give you some ice chips in a moment, David. Just take it easy for now."
Physically, he felt like a stranger in his own body. His arms were heavy, his legs stiff and useless beneath the blanket. The simple act of shifting slightly in bed sent tremors of exhaustion through him. Every muscle ached, as if waking up from a long, unrelenting sleep. He clenched and unclenched his fingers experimentally, as though trying to remind himself how to move.
Kate watched him closely, her hand resting lightly on his arm, afraid to let go. "It's okay, baby." She said softly, her voice trembling. "You're doing great. Just take your time."
After almost an hour of resting and trying the ice chips, David felt a little better, enough to attempt speaking again. His lips parted hesitantly as he blinked at her, his voice still hoarse and strained. 'What—What happened?"
Kate let out a shaky laugh, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "You had a car accident." She said gently, her voice soft and steady despite the emotions threatening to break through. "You've been... sleeping for three weeks." She said, choosing her words carefully, knowing that at fifteen, he might not fully grasp what being in a coma meant. "Your body needed time to heal, so the doctors helped you rest."
His expression shifted—confusion, fear and then guilt flashing across his face. "An accident?"
She nodded, swallowing hard. "You took the car without asking, David. Remember?"
He frowned, his brow furrowing as fragments of memory began to surface tinged with worry. "I— I was— Is she okay?"
Kate's heart clenched. Of course, his first thought was about the girl. "She's okay." She assured him softly. "She had a couple of broken bones, but she's going to be fine. I spoke to her parents yesterday. She's been calling every day to ask about you."
After a moment, Kate couldn't hold back anymore. Trying to understand what was going on in David's mind, she added. "You were so irresponsible! What on earth were you thinking?"
David exhaled shakily, his guilt evident. "I'm so sorry." He whispered, his voice cracking as his gaze dropped to the blanket. "I just— I wanted to take her on a date."
Kate couldn't help but smile through her tears. Her little boy was growing up, making stupid, reckless mistakes in the name of love. She thought of Jack, wishing he were here to help her navigate moments like this.
"You'll need to apologize to her parents, and to her." Kate said gently, wiping her cheeks.
David nodded, defeated. "I know." He said, his voice raspy and barely above a whisper. "I never wanted to hurt her." He broke off into a dry, painful cough, his hand instinctively moving to his throat as a single tear traced its way down his cheek, a reflection of the guilt weighing heavily on him.
She leaned over and hugged him tightly, pressing light kisses all over his face. "I'm so glad you're okay." She answered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."
"I love you." The words slipped from David's lips as if they weren't his own.
Kate's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity flickering across her face. There was something about the way he said it—the tone, the pacing—that felt strangely familiar. For a moment, she was unsettled, caught off guard by the eerie echo of a voice she thought she'd never hear again.
Tears of worry and relief streamed down Kate's face as she looked at her son. What would she have done if she had lost him too?
David shifted slightly in bed, his movements sluggish and weak. His eyes wandered around the room, scanning it with quiet curiosity. Then, something caught his attention. His gaze froze on his hand, staring at it when noticing for the first time.
"David? What's wrong?" Kate asked, her voice tinged with concern as she noticed the intensity in his expression.
Slowly, David lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before opening his palm to reveal what he was holding.
Kate's breath caught in her throat. "What— what is that?"
David's brow furrowed in confusion as he studied the small objects in his hand. "Guava seeds." He replied with a faint, almost puzzled smile tugging at his lips. 'He said— he said they'd make you smile." He added, the memory surfacing suddenly.
Kate froze, her heart skipping a beat. "Who said that David?" She asked, confused.
David's voice softened, his gaze growing distant. "Dad." He replied, the word hanging in the air like an echo from another world.
Her heart stopped. "Sorry? "
"He was with me." David said, his voice firmer now, his conviction cutting through the fog of exhaustion. "This whole time. We talked. He gave me these." He held out the seeds again, his eyes locking with hers, daring her to believe him.
Kate stared at him, her mind reeling as she struggled to process his words. Jack was gone. He had been gone for fifteen years. This wasn't possible.
"Sweetheart," She said gently, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Daddy will always take care of you—from hea..."
"No, Mom. You don't understand." David interrupted, shaking his head as his voice grew more insistent. "I saw him. He was with me. And he knew you were worried about me."
Kate bit her lip, her fingers brushing over the small seeds in his hand. Memories she'd buried long ago began to surface, unbidden and sharp, but she pushed them aside, refusing to let them take hold.
"I believe you, sweetheart." She said softly, though the doubt flickered in her eyes. "Now rest while I get the doctor to check on you, okay?"
She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead before stepping out into the hallway. Her legs trembled beneath her as the weight of his words settled over her like a storm cloud.
Inside the room, David stared down at the seeds in his palm, his thoughts spinning in a whirlwind of frustration and certainty.
"She doesn't believe me." He thought bitterly. "She doesn't get it."