Page 30 of Never Distract a Biker

"Scarlett," she finally breathes out my name, her voice a mere wisp. "A baby ...? Your baby?"

My heart clenches, and tears run down my cheek at the sound of her voice. She hasn’t spoken in weeks. "Yes, Mom. I'm going to be a mother." The title feels foreign on my tongue, a new identity taking shape within me.

"My grandchild," she murmurs, and a single tear trails down her cheek. "You're going to be an amazing mother, my sweet girl."

The encouragement, the love—it's all there, in those few words. It's like she's handing me the torch, telling me it's my turn to shine. To be strong for someone else now.

"Thank you, Mom." My voice cracks, and hot tears blur my vision. "I—I'm scared. But hearing you say that ..."

"Life is scary," she says, her gaze holding mine. "But you, Scarlett, you have courage. More than you know."

I nod, fighting the torrent of emotions threatening to overflow. Fear, yes—but hope too. And determination. For this tiny life growing inside me.

"Mom, I want you to know ... I'm going to keep the baby. No matter what happens. This child will know about you. About how brave and loving its grandmother was."

"Promise me," she insists, her frailty belied by the strength in her gaze. "Promise me you'll live fully, for yourself and the baby."

"I promise, Mom." The words are a pledge, an oath, as sacred as any ancient vow.

Her smile grows, bittersweet and beautiful. "Then I am happy."

I let the tears fully come now, a release, a cleansing. They are tears of grief for the moments my mother will miss, tears of joy for the new life I carry, and tears of resolve for the future I must build.

"Mom ..." I choke out, my hand still clasping hers, feeling the fragile rhythm of her pulse against my skin. "I love you. Thank you for being my rock."

"Always, my darling. Always." She closes her eyes, her breathing steady, and I sit with her, our hands entwined, as the machines beep their monotone lullaby.

In this room, filled with the scent of antiseptic and the soft glow of the bedside lamp, I understand. Love transcends fear. Life goes on. And I am not alone—not truly. Because I carry a piece of the past into the future, a secret flame that warms me from within.

"Sleep well, Mom," I whisper, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Your little girl has got this."

My thumb strokes her knuckles. I imagine a tiny hand in mine, years from now, seeking comfort and guidance. This thought steadies the tremble in my hands.

"Get some rest," I tell her, tucking the blanket tighter around her frail form. Her eyelids flutter closed, the lines of pain softening as she drifts into sleep.

My gaze lingers on her face, etching every line, every contour into memory. The unspoken goodbye hangs in the air, a sorrowful melody only we can hear.

Turning off the light, I step into the hallway, the darkness within me receding like the tide. In its place, there's a growing light—a flame of determination fueled by love and newfound purpose.

13

Scarlett

My eyelids snap open, and the sterile hospital room swims into focus. Something's wrong. Several beeping of alarms going off on the machine has me panicking. Instead, there’s a wail of silence. Flatline.

"Mom?" My voice calls out. No response, just the echo of dread bouncing off the walls. I lurch out of the chair, my hand slamming down on the emergency call button. Terror claws at my chest, and I can't seem to draw enough air.

Several nurses rush into the room and I stand back to give them room. "Please, no," I whisper, more to the universe than to anyone who can hear. The heart monitor stares back at me with its unyielding line, confirming my worst nightmare. "Come on, come on!" I plead, urging the nurses with every fiber of my being to undo this reality.

I'm scrambling now, my movements jagged and frantic, as if I could shake life back into the room—into her. My fingers tremble over her arm, feeling the cold already claiming her skin. Her warmth, that one thing that always felt like home, is slipping away under my touch.

"Mom, please," I choke out, willing her eyes to open, to lock onto mine with that familiar spark of fight. But she remains still.

"Code Blue," a nurse calls out, the urgency clear in her voice as it echoes down the hallway. Her hands are swift, pressing down on Mom's chest with a rhythm that seems to mock the stillness of the room. I step back, feeling utterly useless, my hands trembling as if they're made of dry paper.

I'm shaking, teeth clenched, and the only thought in my head is a desperate prayer for this to be a mistake. For the heart monitor to beep again. Please, beep again.

"Come on, Mrs. Wood," the nurse mutters under her breath, her brows knitted together in fierce concentration. Others join her as they administer shock after shock, the defibrillator's thud a brutal symphony that promises hope but delivers none.

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