Page 86 of Forgotten Dreams

“She’s going to be okay,” he assures me, and I shake my head and turn to the other side of him, tossing the blanket off me and moving to the edge of the bed.

“Baby”—he rushes to the other side—“can you relax for a minute?”

“No.” I shake my head. “You can either take me to her, or I will call the nurse and get her to take me.”

He exhales a heavy breath. “Let me get you a wheelchair.” He looks at my parents and then his. “Don’t let her get out of that bed.”

I want to fight him on it, but my body is going to give out mid-step if I try to fight it off and walk to her. “Is she okay?” I ask the four of them, and they all nod at me.

“She came out of surgery a while ago, but she hasn’t woken up,” my mother shares. “You look so much like her.”

The only thing I can do is nod at this, knowing it must be very hard for her to come face-to-face with my birth mother.

Caleb comes back a couple of minutes later with the black wheelchair in front of him. “The nurse is going to come in and disconnect you from all of your things,” he tells me, and a second later, the nurse comes in.

She takes the monitor off my finger and the two on my chest. She hangs the IV bag on top of the pole on the wheelchair. “She is good to go.” She nods at him and then at me as Caleb picks me up and places me in the wheelchair.

“Should we put a blanket on her legs?” he asks the nurse, who looks at me. “Is that a no?”

“If it will make you feel better,” I give in to him, “then sure.” He places the blanket over my legs.

“See, compromising already,” Jensen jokes, and my father chuckles as Caleb pushes me out of the room and into the dimly lit hallway.

“Are you guys coming?” I look over at my parents, who haven’t moved from their spot.

“We don’t want to intrude,” my mother says, standing tall and trying to be strong.

“Mom,” I retort, “you’re as much a part of this as I am.” She nods when I hold out my hand to her.

I hold my mother’s hand as Caleb wheels me down the hall two doors. He stops the chair and then walks in front of me, as he knocks and then opens the door. “She forced me to bring her.” He sticks his head into the room before the door is pulled open, and my birth father, Carl, is standing there. His eyes go to my parents as he nods at them, and I have a feeling they’ve met, and then they come to me.

“You’re up.” He smiles at me, his eyes filled with brand-new tears. “I was coming by to check on you in a couple of minutes.”

“How is she?” I look past him and toward the bed where Fiona lies.

“Doctor said it’s a good thing the gun was a twenty-two.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Missed all the organs, and she got shot in the side.” He moves to the side so Caleb can wheel me in.

“What happened?” I look at the two of them, who share a look. “You might as well tell me because I’m bound to find out. Someone got shot in my house. I’m sure there will be a police report out there somewhere.”

“She’s not going to let up,” my father concedes. “She’s tenacious.” He looks at Carl, who smiles sadly at me. My heart hurts for him, thinking I was dead all these years. I can’t even fathom what that would feel like.

“Fine.” Caleb fills me in on everything that was said while I was unconscious. My mother shakes her head side to side in shock.

“Where is he now?” I ask, my head reeling from everything that happened today.

“He’s being held at the local jail,” Caleb replies. “Carl broke his nose and busted his lip open, but it’s nothing that will cause him to stay in the hospital.”

“So they did all of this for money?” I ask, looking at Carl.

“It’s the root of all evil.” Fiona’s voice comes out hoarsely, and we all look at her.

“Fiona,” Carl calls, rushing to her side, “you’re okay.” He grabs her hand and tries not to disturb her. The tears just pour down his face. The way he looks at her, you can feel the way he loves her. “You’re okay,” he sobs quietly, taking her hand in his and kissing it. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry.” She tries to clear her throat, and I look up at Caleb, not wanting to ruin their special moment.

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t protect our child.” She tries to move her hand to wipe her tears, but it quickly falls down beside her hip. “I should have protected her.”

“I’m fine,” I interrupt softly. “I grew up with the best parents that I could ask for. They loved me unconditionally, and not once did I feel that I wasn’t theirs, not once.” I look at my mother, who puts her hand on my shoulder, and I put my hand on hers.

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