Page 163 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter Twenty-Six

Christine

“She’s a fighter.” I watch the machines breathe for her.

Soft mechanical breaths fill the room in slow intervals while Blue lies almost lifeless on the hospital bed that looks too big for her tiny body.

I breathe deeply and my ribs burn from the impact. My shoulder feels stitched together with wires. There’s a constant throbbing behind my eyes that never fully leaves.

The pain medication dulls parts of me, but not enough. Never enough because every inch of my body still aches seeing my baby like this.

I hate it.

I hate the wires.

I hate the monitors.

I hate the bruise fading yellow along her little arm.

I hate the way hospitals turn people into numbers and charts and cautious voices.

Most of all, I hate how quiet my baby is.

Aisha is beside me silently, one arm wrapped around herself, the other holding a paper cup of coffee she hasn’t touched in almost twenty minutes.

“She’s a fighter,” I whisper again.

I’ve been saying it for two days now, like repetition can force reality into obedience.

“She is,” Aisha agrees immediately, her voice rough from crying and lack of sleep.

My fingers brush lightly over Blue’s curls.

“They don’t even know.” I sniff, staring at her tiny face. “This girl argued with a tree in her dream.”

Aisha lets out a watery laugh beside me.

“The tree was apparently disrespectful.”

“Very disrespectful.” My throat constricts painfully around the words. “And the ants were helping her fight back.”

Aisha breaks into another laugh that immediately dissolves into a sob halfway through.

I feel one slip out of me too.

Everything hurts differently these days.

Even laughing.

“She’s going to wake up talking.” Aisha nods, wiping roughly at her face. “That child has never entered a room quietly in her life.”

I nod quickly because I need that to be true.

“She’ll probably complain first,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Yeah.” Aisha snorts wetly. “Or ask for pancakes.”

“Or cartoons.”