Page 52 of Beautiful Vows

“Tell me who is missing?” I press. Fear is zipping through my veins. “Is it my dad?”

“No, it’s Rafe and…” He swallows. “Amara has been in a terrible car accident.”

Chapter 17

Lia

Finding out my sister had an accident was the worst thing I could hear. Especially after I made a silent promise to our mother to keep her and Milly safe. But as Amara stares at the ceiling, looking so vulnerable and lost, with her beautiful face battered and her body bruised, I feel like a failure.

But I thank God she’s alive.

Harsh fluorescent lights in the hospital room cast an unforgiving glow, making Amara’s skin appear almost translucent.

I twist to the steady beep of heart monitors and the soft hiss of oxygen that provides the only sound in the room.

I turn back to Amara, my heart in my throat. Her gaze moves over my face, then down to my clothes. Her eyes, usually so sharp and striking, now bear a dull confusion as she looks at me. Finally, she asks the question I can’t bear to hear. “Who are you?”

And it hits me like an arrow in my heart. My breath catches, and for a moment, I can’t speak.

My sister, the one I’ve shared laughter, tears, and countless secrets with, doesn’t know who I am. The realization is an icy fist around my lungs, squeezing the air out of them.

“Amara,” I manage, my voice cracking. “It’s me. It’s Lia. Your sister.”

"Sister?" Her brow furrows, eyes searching my face with determined concentration. I see her struggle as she tries to remember. “I... I don’t...”

Everyone is in shock as we watch Amara as she stares, but says nothing more.

I look away from her face for a moment to her hospital gown. It’s pale blue and washes out her complexion further. Worse, it only just covers the tapestry of bruises that paint her body—rich purples, sickly greens, and bitter reds. My stomach churns.

I watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The sight of her like this brings bile to my throat. My normally vibrant, confident sister, now silent as she lays in this sterile cage. It twists something deep inside me.

I have to remember she's alive. Each breath she takes is a minor victory, proof of her inner strength because when she was rushed into the hospital, her prognosis was dire.

The room feels suffocating, despite its spaciousness. I glance outside the large window. The Gold Coast city skyline glitters, oblivious to our private strife.

A doctor enters, his white coat a stark contrast against his tanned skin. His shoes squeak faintly on the polished floor as he approaches Amara’s bed. “Mr. de Luca?” His voice is kind but professional. “I have some updates on your stepdaughter’s condition.”

“I’m her sister.” How dare they go directly to my stepfather? A man who’s known her for less than a year. And I now know Dominic de Luca is not our stepfather, though I’m sure nobody else here does. “I’m her only blood relative in this room. Tell me?”

Dominic grunts as he twists in his chair and watches my stepmother, who followed the doctor into the room, still scanning through her phone. “Have you called her father?”

My stepmother’s eyes meet his, and she gives him a silent nod.

The doctor turns to me. I stand, my body tense as I brace for the news that I pray is good.

Dante stands beside me as the doctor speaks. My gaze darts nervously from Amara’s bruised face to Cade’s eyes filled with terror, as if he’s trapped in his own nightmare, one he can’t escape.

“Amara’s brain activity is showing signs of post-traumatic amnesia.”

“Amnesia…” three voices, including mine, say together.

The doctor continues matter-of-factly, “She was unconscious for less than an hour and, for that reason, we believe it’s temporary. But it often occurs after a head injury.”

“But it’s short term,” I murmur, shocked. “Does she know who we are?”

The doctor gives me a sympathetic look. “Patients may have difficulty forming fresh memories and recalling recent events. They might also struggle to recognize familiar faces or places. However, in cases like Amara’s, where unconsciousness was brief, it’s typically temporary. As her brain heals, memories should gradually return, though the events immediately surrounding the trauma may remain hazy.”

I slam my hand over my mouth as I catch Amara staring at me. Then there’s a flicker of... something. Recognition? But it fades as quickly as it appeared. “Are you a nurse?” she asks me. Her voice is weak, worse it's coated in anxiety.

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