Page 18 of The One Who Changed Everything

She was right. I didn’t. Not because I thought she was lying, but because something inside me didn’t want to accept it. I had somehow come to accept the possibility that Sophia was mine. I had been looking for myself in her—in the way she smiled, in the way she carried herself with quiet confidence. I wanted—what? A connection? A chance to rewrite the past, to make up for what I’d lost?

But there was no fixing what was never broken.

And that was the most frustrating part. If Sophia wasn’t mine, then there was no reason for this continued draw toward Sam. She deserved better than me and had obviously moved on from our ill-fated affair.

I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face. “I don’t know why this matters so much to me.”

Samantha’s expression softened, the fight in her eyes flickering for just a moment. “Neither do I.”

How had I let so many years slip through my fingers without finding her? If I had been more persistent, if I had pushed harder against the walls she built, could I have been there for Sophia? For Samantha as a young, single mother? Would I have raised another man’s child?

I left the library with my head spinning, the echo of Samantha's denial haunting each step.

CHAPTER 9

Samantha

The phone call came when I was reshelving books, my cell phone vibrating urgently in my pocket.

"Mrs. Brown," the camp counselor's voice trembled, "it's about Sophia... she's collapsed. We’re not sure why."

I couldn’t remember ever moving so fast; one second, I was shelving books on ancient history, and the next, I was bolting for the door, my hands shaking as I clutched the phone to my ear.

"Is she—" I choked out, but the words lodged in my throat, thick with dread.

"Paramedics are on their way. Please come quickly."

Before I knew it, my sensible librarian shoes were slapping against the pavement, my heart hammering a brutal rhythm that echoed my frantic thoughts. I couldn't lose her. Not my Sophia.

I practically threw myself into the car, fumbling with the keys before the engine roared to life. The streets of Minden blurred past me as I sped toward Bloom’s Farm. The world slipped into fast-forward, the quaint shop fronts nothing more than a smudged watercolor streaking by the window, then open fields of farmland.

Twenty minutes felt like an eternity.

"Please be okay, sweetheart," I whispered between clenched teeth, my grip on the steering wheel turning my knuckles white. The air conditioning blasted against my flushed skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat of panic scalding my insides.

"God," I said, not sure if I was praying or bargaining, "just keep her safe. Let her be okay." There was a time when my words to Him were more formal, but today, they tumbled out raw and pleading. I could feel the weight of every silent prayer from the parents who'd ever paced hospital floors, every unwavering hope that things would turn out right.

My mind raced through every memory of Sophia's condition. She had been diagnosed with Long QT Syndrome five years ago. I’d never forget the terrifying moments of pain and dizziness, the relief that came with a promise that we could manage the condition. And yet here I was, again teetering on the edge of every parent's worst nightmare.

The world tipped sideways as I stumbled out of the car, my gaze fixed on the whirlwind of activity that had overtaken the usually tranquil farm. The ambulance was already parked in front of the barn. The sight of worried counselors and campers with faces drawn tight in fear sent an ice-cold shiver down my spine.

"Where is she?” I yelled. My eyes searched frantically for that one face, that one soul who mattered beyond all measure—Sophia.

Evan came toward me. "Sam," he said, his voice steady. "Come with me, she's over here."

"Thank you," I managed, breathless as I followed him to the stretcher. Three additional EMTs surrounded her. The Minden Rogers Fire department had beaten me here. There she was, my little girl, fragile yet fierce even in her stillness. Fear tightened around my throat, threatening to choke me with its cruel grip.

"Stay back, ma'am," another paramedic instructed, not unkindly, but Evan waved him off.

"It's okay, she's the mother," he assured them, and I nearly sobbed in gratitude for his intervention. For a moment, the weight of single parenthood lifted, eased by Evan's protective presence.

"Hey, sweetheart," I whispered to Sophia, reaching out to brush a stray lock from her pale forehead. Her eyelids fluttered, and I took that as a sign—she would fight. She was mine, after all.

"Let's get her to the hospital," Evan said, his tone professional yet tinged with something else—something personal.

"I’m coming with,” I stated firmly.

The other firefighter tried to argue. “Ma’am, we can’t allow you–”

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