Page 82 of Embrace Me Forever

Coco works diligently with her therapist, her small hands moving with concentration. Each task she completes is met with encouragement and praise from the therapist, who seems genuinely impressed by Coco’s progress. As the session wraps up, the therapist smiles broadly at the little girl.

“You did wonderfully today,” she says, beaming. “I have something special for you. Just give me one moment.” With that, she exits the room.

Not long after, a nurse enters, her smile friendly but cautious.

“Do you need anything while you wait?” she asks, her eyes flickering toward Coco with concern. Noticing Coco’s slight discomfort with new people, she makes a well-intentioned move to lift her. But Coco recoils and lets out a distressed cry, her small face scrunching up in fear.

“Oh, what is it, sweetie?” Georgia-May asks, her voice light as she takes over. “Are you feeling a bit shy now?” After a brief pause, she looks at me, a plea in her eyes. “Blake, could you hold Coco for a while? I really need to use the restroom.”

“Of course,” I reply, taking Coco, and the little girl giggles. “Go with Lowe, okay?” I tell Georgia-May.

“I will.” She smiles and quickly makes her exit, leaving Coco, the nurse, and me in the room.

“I can help,” the nurse offers, noticing my attempt to change Coco.

“I think I’ve got this covered,” I respond with a slight smile.

“If that’s the case, I’ll leave you to it,” she says, backing away. But as she moves to leave, she turns back toward me. Then—a sharp prick on my back.

Fuck!

This seemingly benign woman is plunging a needle into my back, injecting a substance that sends cold fire racing through my veins. My muscles stiffen as a numbing chill spreads through my limbs. But a primal urge to protect Coco rides above everything else.

Clutching Coco tightly to my chest with one arm, I use every ounce of strength left to fend off the nurse with the other.My hand grasps her wrist, wrestling to keep her at bay, her intentions clear as she struggles to reach for Coco.

The room spins, and my vision blurs, but the determination to keep Coco safe anchors me to reality. I roar, willing myself to fight against my own body.

In a desperate bid, I grapple with this fake nurse. Bertram’s Trojan horse proves unexpectedly robust. Perhaps it’s my own strength waning rapidly as the drug’s effects take hold. Though nearly devoid of sensation, my arm manages to encircle her neck. I don’t know how much muscle power remains before I’m completely paralyzed—or dead—but my effort proves sufficient. She crumples to the ground, her body going still.

With my consciousness fading and my strength ebbing, I drag myself inch by agonizing inch toward the emergency bell on the wall, Coco still clinging to me—her presence pushing my resolve. My fingers, heavy and uncooperative, finally manage to slap the button, sending a shrill alert through the hospital corridors.

As darkness edges my vision, I catch the faint murmur of Coco’s voice, calling to me in her special way. A growing ring in my ears drowns out her voice. Through the haze of my dizziness, I discern the rapid approach of footsteps, a signal that help is near.

We’re safe, but…

Georgia-May!

30

GEORGIA-MAY

After exiting the cubicle, I linger at the sink for a moment, the sound of running water mingling with thoughts of Coco’s astonishing progress today. She really saved the best for last this time. I smile at my own reflection in the mirror as I dry my hands. For her to run that fast, so freely, when the physio asked her to walk? Priceless! She couldn’t even do that before the surgery.

As I reach for the restroom door, it bursts open with startling force. A man in an orderly’s uniform storms in, his entrance so abrupt that I stagger backward.

Before I can gather my wits, the cold, hard barrel of a gun presses against my neck.

“Hello, Mary,” he rasps, dragging out my name.

“Tell Bertram I’m off his payroll,” I grit out.

“Don’t make a fuss, or your daughter will die.” The threat curdles my blood.

As the thought of my own survival dims, an image flashes in my mind: that unfamiliar nurse in the therapy room made Coco cry. My little girl sensed something was off, and I, blinded by routine, failed to suspect a thing.

“Don’t you touch her!” I shout, my voice resounding off the restroom walls.

His grip remains iron-clad, his presence ominous as he forces me deeper into the restroom. My heart beats double-time, my eyes scanning desperately for any way out. With no sign of Lowe, panic tightens its grip around my throat, suffocating me with fear.

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