04. Anthony’s Angel

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains depictions of a sudden and traumatic car accident involving a child, followed by scenes set in a hospital where the aftermath of the event is explored. Themes of parental fear, emotional distress, and guilt are central to the chapter, as well as moments of physical injury and vulnerability. While the scenes aim to highlight resilience and hope, the raw emotions and descriptions may be triggering for readers sensitive to content involving accidents, medical trauma, or the potential harm of a child. Reader discretion is advised.

ANGEL

“Did you hear what he said, Ma? He said maybe one day we’ll be on stage together!” Derek squealed, his excitement barely contained as he bounced beside me. “See? I told you, Ma! Told you I was good at rhyming.” His wide grin gleamed like sunlight, and while I was walking, he was practically floating.

“You know Mommy always encourages you, baby. I know you’ve got skills,” I said, smiling as I launched into our handshake.

His energy was infectious, and I wanted to keep the joy going. As we headed toward the ice cream truck, I figured this moment deserved something special. With all the food being free thanks to D-Truth, what would normally be an out-of-reach treat was something I could give him today without checking my banking app first.

“Carlos talkin’ ‘bout I can’t be a rapper,” Derek mumbled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the nerve.

Then he chuckled, the kind of laugh that said his dad didn’t know what he was talking about. D-Truth was his hero, the man he looked up to—not his father. And now, with D-Truth’s stamp of approval, Derek’s confidence seemed untouchable.

The heat shimmered off the pavement, and the sweet, sticky smell of melted ice cream wafted through the air as we neared the truck. Derek was still bouncing beside me, his voice bubbling over with excitement.

“Ma, you think D-Truth had to practice? Or you think he was just born good at it? I’m good, but I wanna be, like, D-Truth good,” he said, practically tripping over his own feet as he glanced up at me with that blinding grin.

“Practice, baby,” I said, smiling back. “Even the greats had to practice.”

The line at the truck was short, just a few kids chattering and clutching crumpled dollar bills in their hands that they’d soon realize they didn’t have to use. The metallic ding of the bell when someone got their cone mixed with the low hum of an idling engine somewhere down the street. I caught the faint scent of gasoline, sharp and sour, but it didn’t register. Not then.

Derek tugged on my arm. “Ma, can I get the chocolate sprinkles?”

I laughed. “You can get all the sprinkles you want today.”

He whooped and did a little spin, the kind of unfiltered joy that only kids can pull off without looking ridiculous. The sun caught in his smile, and for a second, everything else faded—the bills waiting at home, the nagging thought of Carlos’s voice. None of it mattered. Just me and my boy. Just this moment.

Then it came. A rumble in the distance, low and mean, growing louder. A car engine. Fast. Too fast.

I turned my head, my hand instinctively going to Derek’s shoulder to steady him, though he didn’t notice. He was still floating, still spinning in his own little world. I glanced down the street, squinting against the sun.

A flash of chrome. Black tires screeching.

“Ma, you see that dog?” Derek pointed toward the other side of the street, oblivious to the shift in the air.

The car’s roar swallowed his words. Time folded in on itself, everything slowing and sharpening all at once.

The sound hit first—a metallic shriek, so loud it punched through my chest. Glass exploded somewhere, tiny shards catching the sunlight like a cloud of glitter. Screams erupted, sharp and jagged, cutting through the humid summer air. My body reacted before my brain could catch up.

“Derek!” My voice cracked as I reached for him, but he was already moving. There was a blur of motion—his little body twisting toward me, his mouth opening in confusion. And then—impact.

The world splintered.

The ground tilted beneath my feet, and I hit the pavement hard, the rough concrete scraping my knees. The air smelled burnt—rubber, asphalt, something acrid and chemical. My ears rang so loud I couldn’t hear anything else, not the screams, not the sirens I was sure were coming. Just that high-pitched whine, sharp and endless.

“Derek!” I tried again, my voice raw and desperate, but my mouth felt full of cotton. My hand scrambled over the pavement, searching for him, my fingers scraping against broken glass and gravel.

There was nothing but chaos.

And then—a stillness that hit harder than the noise.

I blinked, my vision swimming as I pushed myself up, my heart pounding in my ears. My head whipped around, searching, frantic. The ice cream truck was still there, tilted slightly, the metal frame dented. But Derek—where was Derek?

“Derek!” I screamed, my throat burning, but the name was a ghost on my tongue.

And that’s when I saw him.

Lying still. Too still.

My knees gave out again, and the ground came rushing up to meet me.

“Angel… Angel…” The deep voice calling my name felt distant, muffled against the ringing in my ears. “Angel,” it came again, stronger now, closer.

I blinked, my vision swimming, until it finally focused on Anthony Harris crouched in front of me. His large frame loomed like a shield, his eyes locked on mine, full of concern.

I was in the hospital, waiting for news about Derek. He was still in surgery. I couldn’t even process how I’d gotten here, couldn’t think past the screams still echoing in my head. D-Truth and his family had said they’d stay, said they were here for us, but I didn’t believe it. People always said things like that in the moment—it was the right thing to say. But when the dust settled, it would just be me and my baby, like always.

Except…Anthony hadn’t left. Everyone else had gone, hours ago, but not him. He stood in the corner, quiet but steady, watching over me like I was his responsibility. Now he was right in my face.

“You here with me, Angel?” Anthony asked, his voice low, calm, but commanding enough to pull me out of the fog.

I blinked again, my mind starting to catch up. “Yes,” I managed to whisper, though it felt like the word barely came out.

“There’s some paperwork they’ve been needing you to fill out,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “I told them earlier to give you some time, but they’re saying they need it now. I’ll help you, okay?”

He sat in the seat next to me, clipboard and pen in hand.

“What’s your full name, first and last?” he asked, eyes focused on the paper.

“Angelina Moore,” I said quietly.

“Address?” Anthony’s voice was calm, steady, like he didn’t think twice about asking. Like it was no different than asking my name.

But to me, it felt like he’d opened a window I’d been keeping shut for years.

I froze, my lips parting to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. My address. It wasn’t a secret—half the people in Juniper knew where I lived. Hell, Anthony probably did, too. But saying it out loud, handing it over like it didn’t matter, made my stomach knot up.

It wasn’t just an address. It was a statement, a declaration of everything I couldn’t hide. That I lived in a trailer parked in a corner of town no one wanted to claim. That the walls were thin, the floors creaked, and the roof leaked when it rained too hard. That my life—every crooked edge of it—was stamped onto that little patch of dirt like a scar.

I felt the weight of his eyes on me, patient but expectant. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my sling, the material rough under my thumb. I told myself he didn’t care, that it was just a question, that he was just trying to help. But the shame burned anyway, hot and sharp, crawling up my neck like it had a life of its own.

“I can do it myself,” I said quickly, reaching for the clipboard, my voice sharp enough to sting.

Anthony didn’t flinch, didn’t move an inch. “You only have one good arm,” he said, his tone calm but firm, like he’d already decided we weren’t arguing about this.

I looked up at him then, his expression steady, unreadable. There wasn’t any pity in his eyes—no judgment, no smugness, no sign that he thought less of me for where I lived. But that didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder.

“I can do it,” I repeated, softer this time, the words cracking under the weight of my own embarrassment.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice shifting, quiet now, almost gentle. But he didn’t let go of the clipboard. He just sat there, waiting.

The knot in my stomach tightened, and for a moment, I thought about insisting, about fighting him on this just so I wouldn’t have to say it out loud. But the fight drained out of me before I could summon it. What was the point? He wasn’t the first person to know, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Still, my voice came out small, almost a whisper. “Number twelve. Over at Maplewood.”

I kept my eyes on my lap, my hands tightening into fists as I waited for the reaction. A flicker of recognition. A raised eyebrow. Maybe a quick, awkward attempt to change the subject. That’s what most people did when they heard “Maplewood.” They acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but I could always see it—the way they shifted, the way their eyes said everything their mouths didn’t.

But Anthony didn’t do any of that.

He just nodded and wrote it down, like it was any other address, like it didn’t mean anything at all.

And for some reason, that made the knot in my stomach loosen, just a little. Not all the way, but enough that I could breathe again.

When he looked back at me, clipboard still in hand, his gaze was steady, unshakable. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I didn’t answer, just gave a half-hearted shrug, my cheeks still burning. I hated how much this mattered to me, how much space it took up in my head when it clearly took up none in his.

Anthony continued to ask the questions, and I answered. When we were done, he held the clipboard out for me to look over. I scanned it, nodding in approval. Without a word, he got up and headed to the nurse’s station to hand it in.

That’s when it hit me. Carlos. I needed to tell him about Derek, but I didn’t even know where my phone was.

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked as he came back, his brow furrowing with concern.

“My phone, I—” I stammered, my voice trailing off.

“You need me to call somebody for you?”

“Derek’s dad,” I said, the words coming out reluctantly. “I should tell him.”

Anthony’s face shifted, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. I figured he was trying to piece it together—me saying it was just Derek and me, that I didn’t have anyone. And I hadn’t lied. Not really. But I still felt the need to explain, even though I usually hated telling anyone my business.

“He’s not…” I struggled to find the right words, my voice low. “He’s not in Derek’s life like that, but I think he should know.”

Without hesitation, he unlocked his phone and handed it to me. My hands shook as I stared at Anthony’s phone, Carlos’ number already spinning in my head before I even touched the screen. It was automatic, muscle memory. You don’t forget the number of the man who let you down—it stays lodged somewhere deep, like a splinter you can’t reach.

I didn’t want to call him. My thumb hovered over the keypad, my chest tightening with each passing second. I could feel Anthony’s eyes on me, steady but silent, giving me space to wrestle with myself.

Why did this feel so impossible? It wasn’t like Carlos was some stranger. He was Derek’s father. His father. I should’ve been able to make the call without thinking twice, but it felt like trying to drag a boulder uphill with one hand tied behind my back. My stomach churned.

I didn’t trust him. That was the truth of it. I didn’t trust Carlos to show up, not for Derek, not for me, not for anyone. Not in any way that mattered. And if I reached out now, I’d be letting him into a moment that he didn’t earn—hadn’t even tried to earn. It felt like handing him a front-row seat to something sacred, something he’d never bothered to be a part of.

But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just anger or pride or the bitter taste of too many broken promises. It was fear. Fear that I’d dial the number, and he wouldn’t pick up. Or worse, that he would. That I’d hear his voice on the other end, distant and detached.

I glanced at Anthony, still standing beside me, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His presence was steady, grounding, but I couldn’t shake the heaviness pressing down on me. He’d seen it already, the cracks in my armor. How many more would he catch before he decided to walk away, too?

“Take your time,” he said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was low, steady, like he knew exactly what this moment was costing me.

I swallowed hard and nodded, even though I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. The phone felt heavy in my hand, like holding it too long might burn me. My thumb dropped to the screen, tapping out the number before I could second-guess myself.

The line rang once, twice, three times. I held my breath. Each buzz felt like a small knife, twisting deeper with every unanswered call.

Part of me hoped he wouldn’t pick up. That I could just leave a message and be done with it. That I wouldn’t have to hear his voice, or the excuses that always came with it. But the other part, the one I hated admitting was still there, was clinging to some shred of hope—hope that maybe, this time, he’d surprise me. That for once, he’d prove me wrong.

The line clicked. My chest tightened, but it wasn’t him. Just his voicemail, the same one I’d heard a hundred times before. I let out a shaky breath, half relief, half disappointment.

“Carlos,” I started, my voice thin, trembling. I swallowed hard, trying to steady it. “It’s Angel. Something happened to Derek. He’s…” My throat closed up, the words catching on a sob I refused to let out. I swallowed again. “He’s in the hospital. Call me back. Please.”

I ended the call before I could say anything else, my hands still shaking as I handed the phone back to Anthony. He took it without a word, his eyes searching mine, like he was waiting for me to break. But I didn’t.

“Thanks,” I muttered, my voice barely audible.

He nodded, sliding the phone into his pocket. No judgment, no questions. Just that quiet, steady presence that made me feel like I wasn’t completely falling apart.

But inside, I was unraveling. I hated that I still called Carlos, that I still gave him space in my life, even if it was just for Derek’s sake. Because deep down, I already knew how this would play out. He wouldn’t call back. Or if he did, it would be hours, maybe even days later, when the crisis had already passed and the damage was already done.

And still, I called. Because if I didn’t, it would be just me. Me and my boy, like it always was. Like it always would be.

I sank back into the stiff waiting room chair, the weight of the day pressing down like cinder blocks strapped to my chest. My eyes fixed on the ugly linoleum floor, every scuff mark and crack looking like my life—worn out and barely holding together. Every sound around me felt too loud, too sharp: footsteps echoing down the hall, the rustle of papers, the steady beep of monitors. Each noise was another jab at my already frayed nerves.

“So, you don’t have any family around here?” Anthony’s voice cut through the tension, low and steady. “Parents?”

“Never met my dad,” I said, my tone flat. “Mom’s dead. I got an aunt here in Juniper. She’s my landlord, but that’s about it. She’s not good people, you know? Outside of paying my rent, I keep my distance.”

He nodded, his face unreadable, like he wanted to ask more but decided against it.

“How long till you’re out of that sling?” he asked instead, his eyes flicking to my arm.

“Hopefully two to three weeks,” I muttered, glancing down at my wrapped shoulder.

Anthony shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I’m sorry this happened, Angel,” he said, like he wished he could rewind time and make it right.

I let out a dry laugh, the sound brittle and hollow. “What’s one more bad thing, huh? My life’s been a series of unfortunate events. Might as well add this to the list.”

He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile, just looked at me with that same intense gaze that felt like he could see straight through me.

“Do you ever feel like you’re cursed?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, my voice barely above a whisper.

Anthony glanced at me, his brows pulling together in a way that made it clear he wasn’t expecting that. “Cursed?”

“Yeah,” I said, my throat tightening. “Like no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, life just… keeps kicking your ass.”

He was quiet for a moment, like he was turning the thought over in his head.

“I don’t know about cursed,” he said finally, his voice steady, measured. “But I know what it feels like to be stuck in the storm, thinking it’ll never let up.”

I glanced at him, his profile sharp against the dim hospital lights. He didn’t look at me, just kept staring ahead, his memory taking him somewhere away from here.

“How’d you get through it?” I asked, not even sure why I cared about the answer. Maybe because right now, I didn’t see a way through at all.

“You just keep moving,” Anthony said, his voice calm, like he’d had to convince himself of it a few times. “One step at a time. One day at a time. And sometimes, you let people help—even when you don’t want to.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. What kind of problems could he possibly have? His brother was rich and famous, and money alone could solve ninety percent of my problems—including the hospital bill I knew was coming. But no matter how massive it was, I’d pay it. I’d clean a million houses, hell, I’d even sleep with Carlos every day if I had to—whatever it took to make sure my son was okay.

I scoffed lightly, the bitterness slipping out before I could stop it. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“You will now,” he said, his tone firm but not pushy. His gaze was steady, like he wasn’t just saying it to make me feel better. “I meant what I said earlier. We all did.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But trust didn’t come easy—not for someone like me. Only time would tell if those words were real, or just another temporary promise that would fade away when things got hard.

“I sent everyone home for the night,” Anthony said, his voice low but sure. “They wanted to stay, but I told them I got you.”

Something about the way he said it made my heart sink and rise at the same time, a strange twist of emotions I couldn’t quite place.

“But they’ll be back,” he added, his gaze steady on me. “We all got you. Mean that.”

I got you.

He’d said it before, and I’d felt it—deep, like it had seeped into my bones. The way he held me earlier had melted something in me I didn’t even realize was frozen. Never in my life had I felt so safe. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way he said them, the way his presence filled the room, steady and unshakable.

I thought back to the day before, to the fleeting fantasy of being held by him again. But never in a million years did I imagine it would happen like this, under these circumstances. And yet here he was.

Him.

Of all people, it was Anthony who held me when I felt like crumbling. Anthony who was here now, taking control of a situation I didn’t have the strength to handle on my own.

I didn’t respond, couldn’t bring myself to admit how much that hit home. Instead, I nodded slowly, my eyes flicking back to the floor.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and I looked up to see a doctor approaching, their face unreadable. My heart leapt into my throat, and I instinctively gripped the armrest of the chair, bracing myself.

“Ms. Moore?” the doctor asked, their tone professional but kind.

I stood up on shaky legs, my voice barely holding together. “That’s me. Is he… Is Derek okay?”

Anthony was on his feet too, standing just behind me.

The doctor gave a small, reassuring smile. “He’s stable. The surgery went longer than expected but, it went well. Just getting him settled in recovery now, and you’ll be able to see him shortly.”

The relief hit me so hard I nearly stumbled, the air rushing out of my lungs in a gasp. My knees felt weak, but before I could wobble, Anthony’s hand was on my back, steadying me.

“Thank you,” I managed to choke out, tears threatening to spill.

The doctor nodded and walked off, leaving me standing there, the weight on my chest finally easing. Anthony’s hand didn’t move, just stayed there, firm but gentle, like a silent reminder that I wasn’t alone—not in this moment, at least.

“He’s okay,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else, the words trembling on my lips.

“Yeah,” Anthony said softly. “He’s okay.”

Before I could stop myself, I turned to him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders. It was instinctive, like my body had moved faster than my mind. He hugged me back, his arms steady, strong—like this was something we’d done a hundred times before, like he already knew how to hold me together when I couldn’t do it myself.

For a moment, I let myself sink into it. The warmth of him, the way his presence felt so solid, so sure. It was a kind of safety I hadn’t realized I’d been starving for. It felt too easy, too natural, and that’s what scared me most.

The realization hit like a cold splash of water, and I pulled back, my arms dropping awkwardly to my sides. Embarrassment prickled hot under my skin as I avoided his eyes, staring hard at the scuffed linoleum beneath us like it held all the answers I didn’t want to face.

“Sorry, I—” I started, my voice shaky, the apology spilling out before I could stop it.

“Don’t do that,” Anthony cut in, his voice low but firm.

My eyes flicked up to his, startled. “Do what?”

“Apologize for needing me in this moment,” he said, his tone softening but still holding its weight.

I opened my mouth, but no words came. His gaze stayed steady, searching mine, and the truth of what he said settled somewhere deep, in a place I didn’t want to admit existed. Needing him. Was that what I’d just done?

I wanted to brush it off, to make some excuse, to tell him I didn’t need anyone—that I’d gotten this far on my own and didn’t need saving now. But the words stuck in my throat, caught between the instinct to defend myself and the ache in my chest that he’d somehow seen through me.

“I didn’t mean—” I started again, but he shook his head, cutting me off without saying a word.

Before I could respond, a nurse appeared, her presence breaking the moment. “Miss Moore, come with me.”

I moved as quickly as I could manage, Ant’s hand resting gently on the small of my back, guiding me.

The nurse stopped us just outside the door, her hands clasped in front of her like she was bracing for what came next.

“Now, before we go in,” she began, her tone kind but serious, “I want to prepare you. It might be hard to see your little boy like this, but I promise, he’s headed in the right direction.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightened, and I gripped the edge of the doorframe, my knuckles white. Hard to see your little boy like this. The phrase rang in my head, over and over, until it blurred into the steady hum of panic. My throat constricted, and the tears came fast, hot and unwelcome, blurring my vision as I tried to force myself to stand still.

I barely registered Anthony stepping in front of me.

“Give us a second,” he said to the nurse, his voice low but firm. The nurse hesitated for a moment before nodding.

I stood there, frozen, my breaths coming short and shallow. My chest felt like it was caving in, the pressure too much to bear. I wanted to pull myself together, but it was like my body wasn’t listening, like my grief had taken over and left me stranded.

“Angel.” His voice was soft, but there was a steady weight to it, a calm certainty that pushed through the chaos swirling inside me. I blinked, looking up, and there he was, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, his broad shoulders blocking out the cold glare of the fluorescent lights.

Anthony reached out, his hands rough but careful as he wiped the tears from my cheeks. His touch was so gentle, so unexpectedly tender for such a big man, that it broke something in me I hadn’t realized I was holding onto. He didn’t say anything as he worked, didn’t rush me or ask me to stop crying. He just stayed there, like he had all the time in the world to hold space for me.

He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle, his movements slow and deliberate, before holding it up to my lips.

“Drink,” he said softly, the word more of an invitation than a command.

I hesitated, my fingers twitching at my sides, but then I leaned forward and sipped, the cool water sliding down my throat like a balm against the rawness. When I finished, he tipped the bottle back and used the hem of his shirt to dab gently at my face, wiping away the tear tracks with a kind of care that felt foreign and overwhelming. I wasn’t used to someone taking care of me like this, and it showed in the way my hands trembled, caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to lean in.

“Take some deep breaths with me, Angel,” he said, his voice like an anchor in a storm. His eyes held mine, calm and unwavering. “You’ve got this.”

I watched him as he inhaled deeply, his chest rising slow and steady before he exhaled in a controlled rhythm. It was almost hypnotic, the rise and fall of his breaths, and without even thinking, I followed. In. Out. In. Out. Each one steadier than the last, pulling me back from the edge.

“You can do this, alright?” he said again, his voice quieter now, meant just for me. “I’m right here with you.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat easing just enough for me to breathe. The tears slowed, and though my chest still felt tight, I wasn’t drowning anymore. His presence had pulled me back to the surface, and I hated how much I needed it. How much I needed him.

He didn’t ask if I was ready. He just turned to the nurse and said, “We’re ready,” his voice carrying the same quiet authority that had calmed me in the first place.

But before we moved, his hand found the small of my back, a light but grounding touch that made me feel like I wouldn’t fall apart completely.

The nurse turned, her kind smile landing on both of us. “What a great partner you have in each other,” she said, her tone sincere. “Derek’s lucky to have such caring parents.”

My stomach twisted, and for a second, I couldn’t speak. The word partner hung in the air like it had a weight of its own, heavy and awkward. My mouth opened, the correction right there on my tongue, but the look on her face stopped me. She wasn’t judging, wasn’t assuming anything cruel—just smiling in that polite, professional way. She thought she was complimenting me. Us.

I glanced at Anthony, expecting him to jump in, to clear it up, to say I’m just a friend, or I’m just here to help. But he didn’t. His expression didn’t change, not even a flicker. He just nodded slightly, as if the comment didn’t faze him at all.

I couldn’t tell if that made it better or worse.

I wanted to correct her. I did. But the words tangled up in my throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the exhaustion pressing down on me, or maybe it was the way Anthony’s hand stayed steady against my back, grounding me in a way I didn’t want to admit I needed.

Partner. The word lingered, brushing against a part of me I’d long since boarded up. It was too much, too close, too far from anything I’d let myself hope for. And yet, for a split second, the idea wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The thought of someone—someone like him—standing beside me, not just in this moment, but in all the others that came after. Someone who stayed.

But no. That wasn’t how this worked. Not for me.

I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat down. This wasn’t the time for fantasies, for letting my mind drift to places it didn’t belong. Anthony was here because of Derek, not me. Because he was a good man, the kind of man who helped when help was needed, even if he didn’t have to. That’s all this was.

I told myself it didn’t matter, that the nurse’s words didn’t stick. Just a casual misunderstanding, a throwaway comment, nothing worth holding onto. But the knot in my chest told a different story, tightening with every breath, refusing to let me pretend I didn’t hear it. Refusing to let me pretend it didn’t hit somewhere deeper than I wanted to admit.

“He’s not—” I started, my voice barely above a whisper, each word dragging under the weight of all the things I didn’t want to say.

“Let’s go see Derek,” Anthony said, cutting me off before I could get the words out. His voice was calm, certain, leaving no room for argument.

I glanced up at him, half-expecting him to look back, to explain himself, to offer me some kind of reassurance. But his focus was already ahead, like he’d decided the only thing that mattered right now was getting me through that door.

Anthony’s hand stayed steady at my back as we moved, guiding me forward without a word. It wasn’t a push, wasn’t forceful—it was just there, solid and sure, like a quiet promise I didn’t know how to trust.

And I hated how much I noticed it. Hated the way it made me feel lighter, like I wasn’t dragging the weight of the world all on my own. Like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely alone in this.

But I knew better.

The nurse nodded, slowly pushing the door open. I took a deep breath, feeling the solid warmth of Anthony’s hand still on my back, and stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of machines filling the silence like a quiet song of worry. My eyes landed on Derek, so small in that hospital bed, wires and tubes connected to him like lifelines. His face was pale, a stark contrast to his usual glow, but his chest rose and fell steadily. He was breathing. He was here.

My knees buckled, and I stumbled, the weight of seeing him like this threatening to take me down. Anthony’s arm shot out, steadying me before I could hit the floor.

“I got you,” he said again, his voice low, almost a whisper, but firm enough to pull me back from the edge.

I clutched his arm, grounding myself, and let out a shaky breath. “He looks so small,” I choked out, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak.

“He’s tough, like his mama,” Anthony said, his voice full of quiet conviction.

I took a hesitant step forward, my hand reaching out to touch Derek’s arm. His skin was warm under my fingertips, and the simple act of feeling him grounded me in a way nothing else could.

“Hey, Baby,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Mommy’s here.”

He didn’t stir, but the nurse’s earlier reassurance echoed in my mind—he’s doing well, headed in the right direction.

“Angel,” Anthony’s voice pulled me back. “You want me to give you a minute?”

I shook my head quickly. “No, stay. Please.” The word came out almost desperate, surprising even me.

He nodded, stepping to the side but staying close enough that I could feel his presence.

“Can I talk to him?” I asked, glancing at the nurse standing quietly in the corner.

“Of course,” she said with a kind smile. “He may not respond, but hearing your voice can help.”

I turned back to Derek, my hand never leaving his arm. “You scared me, you know that? Had me worried sick. But you’re gonna be okay, Baby. You’re strong, just like you always are.” My voice wavered, the tears threatening to spill again. “And I’ll be right here the whole time, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt Anthony shift beside me, his presence a silent reassurance, like a rock steadying me in the storm.

Derek didn’t move, but I swore I saw the tiniest twitch of his fingers under my hand. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to send a spark of hope through me.

“You see that?” I whispered, my voice cracking as I looked at Anthony.

He leaned in, his eyes narrowing on Derek’s hand. “Yeah, I see it. He’s fighting, Angel. He’s got this.”

I nodded, clutching Derek’s hand tighter, as if my grip alone could pull him back to me.

Anthony’s voice broke the quiet, low and steady, like it carried more weight than just words. “You’re not alone in this, Angel. Whatever you need, I’m here. I promise.”

The word promise hung in the air between us, heavy with meaning, daring me to believe in it. Promises had always been slippery things in my life—said too easily, broken even faster. But the way Anthony said it, like he’d carved it out of stone and set it right in front of me, made it feel different. And that terrified me.

I glanced up at him, my throat tight, my chest heavy with the weight of emotions I didn’t know how to sort through. Gratitude, confusion, even a flicker of something warmer, something dangerous, something I didn’t want to name. His dark eyes met mine, calm and steady, and for the life of me, I couldn’t look away.

Why was he here? Why did he care so much? The questions rolled through my mind like thunder, louder with every second, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Because deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answers. What if he was just here out of obligation, out of guilt or some sense of responsibility? What if this wasn’t real—just another moment that would slip through my fingers when things got hard?

But he didn’t look away. He didn’t fidget or glance at the clock or act like there was anywhere else he needed to be. He just stood there, like he’d planted himself in this storm with me and wasn’t planning to leave. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe it. Just for a moment. Just enough to breathe.

I didn’t say anything—I couldn’t. My throat was too tight, my thoughts a tangled mess I wasn’t ready to face.

His hand rested lightly on my arm, steady and grounding, like a quiet anchor in a sea I’d been treading alone for too long. I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding, the weight on my chest easing just enough to remind me of something I hadn’t felt in years.

I didn’t have to carry it all on my own. Not right now.

The thought hit me harder than I expected, cutting through the chaos in my head like a shard of glass. It wasn’t relief I felt—it was fear. Because letting someone else hold even a fraction of my burden meant trusting them not to drop it. Trusting them not to drop me.

And I didn’t know if I could do that again.

The thought terrified me.

Yet, as his hand stayed steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed, I didn’t pull away.

I couldn’t.

Because in that moment, for the first time in longer than I could remember, the weight wasn’t just mine to carry.

And that scared me even more.

to be continued.

Let’s Chat In The Comments:

• How will Derek’s accident affect Angel’s already complicated feelings about her ability to protect him?

• Will Angel’s vulnerability in this moment open the door to a deeper connection with Anthony, or will she push him away to protect herself?