Page 19 of The One Who Changed Everything

“I’m coming with,” I said again. I’d had this fight before, and just like before, there was no way Sophia was going anywhere without me.

Evan searched my eyes for a moment. He gave a curt nod, and together we moved with the stretcher toward the waiting ambulance. “You can ride shotgun,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

I’d take what I could get.

The ambulance doors slammed shut, sealing me inside a cocoon of flashing lights and sterile smells. I clung to the front passenger seat armrest. My gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, where Evan's reflection hovered over Sophia.

"Her vitals are stable for now," he announced, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine and the siren's piercing cry. "Blood pressure is low. Sophia, can you hear me?"

"Mom?" Her voice was weak, a thread of sound winding its way to my ears, fraying my heartstrings with its vulnerability.

"I'm right here, baby," I called back, struggling to keep my tone light. "Evan's taking good care of you."

"Good," she murmured, and I imagined her smile, that tiny curve of lips that always seemed to say, 'I've got this, Mom.'

"Has she ever collapsed like this before? Does she have any pre-existing conditions?"

There it was. I hesitated, the air thickening around me, my fingers tightening around the armrest until my knuckles blanched.

"Sam?" he asked again.

"She has Long QT.”

From my peripheral vision, I saw Evan pause, his silhouette rigid against the flicker of red and white lights that bathed the interior of the ambulance in an eerie glow. He leaned closer to the window, his eyes searching mine for something more than just medical information. I held his gaze, feeling the fabric of our shared past stretching taut between us.

I cleared my throat, each syllable an effort. "It’s a heart condition–"

"I know what it is," he replied, his tone laced with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

My heart sank. This was what I was afraid of.

Long QT was genetic. When Sophia had been diagnosed, they tested me too. But I didn’t carry the gene marker. Which meant she’d gotten it from her father’s side of the family. The father who I’d just last week lied to and insisted she wasn’t his. It had been a long shot to hope that he wasn’t familiar with the condition.

"How long have you known?" he asked, his voice low and controlled, but I could hear the tremor of emotion beneath the surface.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Since she was eight."

"Five years," he breathed, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten.

“Is there anything else we should know?” he asked, though his voice cracked ever so slightly on the last word. His professional mask slipped for a moment, revealing the raw edge of personal shock. It was as if I could see the cogs turning behind those kind eyes of his, piecing together a puzzle whose image he had long suspected but never confirmed.

“She’s on a beta-blocker. She hasn’t had an episode in over two years.”

“Matteo, call the ED and let them know what we’ve got coming.” He turned back to Sophia. “Okay, Sophia. We’re going to get you to the doctors okay?”

"Thank you," I whispered, though whether it was for his understanding or his care for Sophia, even I wasn't sure.

"Always," he said, and the simplicity of that word carried a weight of promises, broken and unbroken alike.

The rest of the ride unfolded in silence. Evan busied himself monitoring Sophia, occasionally calling updates to Matteo.

The ambulance doors flew open as if released from an unseen pressure, a pressure that had been building with each revelation and unspoken word between Evan and me. I followed the stretcher, my hand hovering above Sophia's still form. The sterile smell of the emergency room mingled with the sharp tang of antiseptic, grounding me to the moment.

"Stay strong, baby girl," I whispered, more to myself than to Sophia, who was lost in a world between consciousness and the steady beep of monitors.

I risked a glance back at Evan, whose eyes held my gaze with a gravity that seemed to stretch across the expanse of our shared history. There was a tension there, a silent conversation that needed no words yet spoke volumes. It was as if we were bothactors in a play we never rehearsed, suddenly aware that the script had changed irrevocably.

CHAPTER 10

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