Mabel could feel the heaviness pressing down on her head as she tried to turn toward her father. The movement made the room tilt, her vision wobbling. She struggled to gather her thoughts, but her memories were nothing but a tangled mess.
Her trembling hands slowly rose to her temples, as if she could hold her skull together. "It aches," she whispered, her voice faint and shaky.
Immediately the nurse leaned over her bed, concern etched across her face. "Yes, Regina. You've been in a coma for one year. That's why it hurts so badly," she explained gently.
Hearing what the nurse had hurt said, Mabel's eyes widened, confusion spilling across her pale face. "One… year?" Her voice was little more than a breath. "What… what happened to me?"
Her mind pushed hard against the fog, but the images refused to form. All she could find was an empty darkness, and the growing throb in her head.
The nurse hesitated, glancing toward the elderly man standing quietly at the side of the bed, Don Pedro Martins. His tall frame seemed to carry both authority and exhaustion. Before the nurse could speak, he stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Mabel's arm.
"Darling," he said softly, "let's leave the details for later. Right now, your body is weak, and your mind has been through too much. You need to rest."
Her tired eyes searched his face. "But… I need to know," she murmured.
He gave a small, sad smile. "And you will. But not now. Please, trust me on this."
The warmth of his hand seeped into her skin. And in that instant, like a sudden spark her mind flashed to another time.
She saw herself as a young girl, sitting at a dining table. Beside her sat her father, younger, his face smoother but with the same piercing eyes. Across from them was her mother dressed in black and white, her kind smile directed at the younger Mabel. The table was full of food, the air filled with quiet laughter.
The memory hit her so suddenly that she pressed her hands to her head again, as if she could keep it from shattering her skull.
Don Pedro leaned closer, his voice laced with worry. "Regina? Are you all right?"
"I… I saw something," she whispered. "Me… you… and mum . We were at a table, eating. I was younger… so much younger."
Her father's gaze tightened, though he tried to hide it. "I guess it was a flashback ," he said quietly. "Just relax your mind,"
"This is the first time I've remembered anything clearly since I woke up," she admitted, her breathing uneven. She looked down at her hands, pale against the white sheet. "But I… I feel strange. Like I don't belong in my own body."
The nurse moved to adjust her IV. "That's normal, Miss Regina. After being unconscious for so long, it will take time for your mind and body to feel… connected again."
Mabel shook her head slowly. "It's more than that. Something feels… wrong." She looked at her father, her eyes narrowing slightly, though her voice stayed soft. "You're the man I saw in my memory. But you feel… different."
Don Pedro's lips pressed into a thin line. He reached out again, squeezing her hand. "Time changes people, Regina. And you've been away for far too long. One year was a lot, the stress and all made my face changed a little, but I am still your father. I never stopped waiting for you."
Her throat tightened at his words. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to feel safe. But the nagging sense that something was missing clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.
She closed her eyes, trying to push away the unease. "Maybe… I just need rest."
"Yes," Don Pedro said softly, brushing her hair back from her face. "Rest, my little girl."
As she tried to close her eyes, the flashback returned, quick, vivid, and unsettling. Mabel's lips moved before she could stop herself.
"Where's… mummy?" she asked softly.
The question seemed to freeze Don Pedro. He cleared his throat, his eyes shifting before he looked back at her with a sorrowful expression.
"She… she didn't survive," he said finally, his voice low. "She died."
He paused, taking in a shaky breath. "I'm glad God was kind enough not to take both of you away from me. I thought I'd lose you too… since you were the one driving the car. But somehow, you survived. Miraculously. Your mum… never did."
The words hit Mabel like a sudden blow. Her mouth trembled. "I… had an accident? And my mom… was in the car with me?" she stammered.
Don Pedro gave a slow nod, his gaze heavy.
Tears pricked Mabel's eyes, fighting past the pounding in her skull. She wanted, needed to remember, but her mind was a locked door. No matter how hard she tried, all she found was darkness.
"Regina," Don Pedro said gently, "please… just rest. Don't push yourself too hard. Your mum wouldn't have thought twice about giving her life for you. We both love you that much."
The words cracked something open inside her, and her tears spilled freely. "I… I'm a murderer," she whispered. "I killed my mom."
"Hey," Don Pedro said quickly, leaning closer, his voice soft but firm. "Don't say that, baby. It wasn't your fault. The brakes failed. You lost control of the steering."
He reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm sure you swerved into the lagoon thinking it would save you both. You did what you could. You're not bad, Regina. You're not."
But each word only seemed to make the guilt sink deeper into her chest.
She stared at the ceiling, her tears sliding toward her ears. "Then why… why can't I remember any of it?"
Don Pedro brushed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Maybe your mind is protecting you. Sometimes when the pain is too great, the memories stay hidden until we're ready to face them."
Her voice broke. "I'm so sorry, Mum." The words were barely a whisper, but heavy with grief.
At that moment Don Pedro looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. "She loved you more than anything. I know she wouldn't want you to carry this weight."
Mabel's breath trembled as she tried to calm herself, but her chest felt tight, her migraine still throbbing. "I… I wish I could see her face again. Just once."
"She's here," Don Pedro said quietly, pressing his hand to her heart. "Every beat you feel… that's her love keeping you alive."
Mabel closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. But beneath them, questions stirred. Why couldn't she remember the accident? Why did the image of her mother feel more distant than it should.
Still, the ache in her head made it impossible to press for answers now. She was too tired. Too broken.
"I'll try to rest now," she murmured.
Don Pedro nodded, smoothing her hair. "That's all I ask, my little girl. We'll talk more when you're stronger."
Mabel turned away, facing the wall, her lips pressed tightly together. She didn't want to say a word, not to him, not to anyone.
"I'll go see the doctor now," Don Pedro said after a moment, his voice calm but carrying authority. "I'll ask if you can be discharged as soon as possible. The mansion has missed you. I don't mind paying for home care if that's what you need."
However she stayed silent.
Don Pedro studied her back for a second, then leaned down and placed a light kiss on her cheek. "Rest, my little girl, Daddy missed you." he murmured, before straightening and heading toward the door.
The hallway outside the room was quiet except for the faint hum of hospital machines in the distance. As Don Pedro strolled toward Doctor Derrick's office, his steps were unhurried, almost relaxed. For the first time in a long time, he felt a strange sense of peace his daughter was alive, back where she belonged.
He reached the door, knocked twice, and entered without waiting for a reply.
Doctor Derrick, a tall man in his late twenties with sharp glasses perched on his nose, looked up from a patient file. "Ah, Mr. Martins," he greeted politely. "Please, have a seat."
Don Pedro didn't sit. He remained standing, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His voice was firm, leaving no room for evasions.
"I'm sure the nurse has already given you the details," he said. "She examined my daughter the moment she opened her eyes. Now tell me what's the situation? I want the truth, Derrick. No half-answers, no sugarcoating."