A month later, Katelynn jolts awake, choking around the tube lodged in her throat. Panic surges through her chest as she claws weakly at it. Monitors shriek. Nurses rush in, steady hands holding her down, voices calm but urgent as they remove the tube. Air burns her lungs, but she breathes on her own.


Miles away, Nora is curled on the couch with her grandchildren, a movie playing softly in the background, laughter filling the room for the first time in weeks. Her phone rings. The moment she hears the words “She’s awake,” everything stops. Nora finds a babysitter within minutes and is on the interstate before the sun has fully dipped, her hands tight on the steering wheel, whispering thank-you prayers through tears.


Back at the hospital, pain blooms deep in Katelynn’s body. A crushing pressure settles in her pelvis, sharp and undeniable. Nurses rush to check her, and before anyone can finish a sentence, instinct takes over. Katelynn pushes.

“Get help now,” the nurse shouts. “I feel the head.”


The room fills with motion and noise; voices overlapping, metal clattering, Katelynn screaming as her body does what it remembers even when her mind cannot. With one final push, a cry pierces the air. Her baby is born screaming, alive, and strong.


Katelynn collapses back against the bed, sweat-soaked, trembling, and numb. The world feels distant, muffled, unreal. Nurses place the baby near her chest, but her throat is raw, her voice barely there.

“I’ll… get him later,” she whispers.


The doctor finishes, and the nurses gently carry the baby to the nursery. The room grows quiet again.


Minutes later, Nora bursts through the door. She wraps Katelynn in her arms, holding her like she did when she was small, like she might slip away if she lets go.

“Are you okay?” Nora asks, voice shaking.


“Mama,” Katelynn whispers, eyes wide with fear, “I can’t remember anything.”


Nora freezes for half a breath, then smooths Katelynn’s hair. “That’s okay,” she says softly. “I’ve got you. I’ll go check on my grandbaby and I’ll be right back.”


Left alone, Katelynn reaches for her phone on the bedside table. She scrolls slowly, studying photos, names, messages; trying to stitch together a life she knows belongs to her but feels just out of reach.