The hospital lights were too white blinding, cold, merciless.
Ayla sat outside the emergency room, her fingers trembling around her mother's dupatta, now streaked with blood.
The world had become soundless only the echo of her own heartbeat, frantic and broken.
"Mama…" she whispered, over and over.
The last image of her falling replayed behind her eyes that flash of red, the sickening thud, the stillness that followed.
She had screamed for help, for anyone and somehow, Damien had been there.
He had called the ambulance. He had driven them here.
He had held her hand the whole way.
But something inside her something small and sharp whispered that he'd been too calm.
The doctor came out after what felt like forever.
"Mrs. Vernes has suffered severe internal injuries," he said gravely. "She's unconscious but stable for now. We've done all we can. The next 24 hours are critical."
Ayla stood up too fast, nearly stumbling.
"Can I see her?"
"Just for a minute," the doctor said softly.
She walked inside and froze.
Her mother lay pale, almost unrecognizable, machines beeping softly beside her.
Alya reached out, her voice cracking.
"Mama, it's me… Ayla… please wake up."
No answer.
Just the steady rhythm of the monitor.
Tears blurred her sight as she sank to her knees beside the bed.
"You promised you'd stay," she whispered. "You said you'd never leave me alone."
Outside the room, Damien stood with the doctor, his posture rigid but composed.
"Was it a fall?" the doctor asked cautiously.
Damien sighed, rubbing his temples the picture of a worried husband.
"Yes. She… she must have slipped. I warned her not to go up there, but she insisted. I wasn't even home."
The lie rolled off his tongue like poetry.
When he turned, his mask was perfect again.
He walked into the room, resting a hand gently on Ayla's shoulder.
"She's strong," he said softly. "She'll make it."
Ayla looked up at him, eyes red, voice shaking.
"Damien… she didn't fall. I saw her. Sheshe was on the terrace and"
He knelt in front of her, taking her hand.
"Shh… Ayla. You're in shock. You don't know what you saw."
"I do!" she cried. "I saw her"
He pressed a finger to her lips, his eyes darkening just slightly.
"Listen to me. You were far away. Your mind's confused. You saw her fall nothing else. If you tell anyone otherwise, they'll think you're imagining things. You don't want that, do you?"
Her breath hitched. "Why would I imagine something like that?"
He smiled faintly, thumb brushing her tears. "Because you love her too much. Your mind's trying to protect you from guilt. You think you could've stopped it but you couldn't."
Alya's body trembled. "Guilt? What guilt?"
"You sent her upstairs," he said softly. "You told her to check something, remember?"
She blinked confused, lost. "No… I didn't"
He leaned closer, voice lower now, dangerous in its gentleness.
"Memories get blurry during trauma, love. Let's not make things worse by overthinking."
That night, when the doctors finally made them leave, Damien drove home with one hand on the wheel, the other resting protectively over hers.
Ayla stared out the window, silent.
Her reflection trembled in the glass tired, tear-stained, broken.
"Everything will be fine," he murmured. "Trust me."
But something deep inside whispered Don't.
And somewhere in the sterile white of the hospital, under flickering lights,
Mrs. Vernes's fingers twitched just once.