Page 8 of Bliss: Part 2
But Owen, sitting on the other side of her bed, his hand gently brushing her hair back from her forehead, spoke up.
“Then we help her build it back,” he said. “Whatever she lost, we give her time and space and love until she gets it back. Or until she becomes something new. But we don’t leave. We don’t quit. That’s not what we do.”
His voice cracked at the end.
None of us were trying to be tough anymore.
Ashby was sitting on the bench by the window with Dad, his face buried in his hands. Tripp and Rhys were up front, quietly taking turns wiping their faces and checking the monitors like they could fix something if they stared hard enough. Even Kenneth was still outside, sitting in the waiting room. He’d driven around all day for her, followed every lead, and refused to go home until he knew she’d be okay.
We owed that man more than words. He said he didn’t want anything from us, but that didn’t sit right with me. We’d figure out a way to repay him. Maybe not with money, but something. Free repairs. His next dozen oil changes on the house. Whatever it took.
I shifted in the chair, trying to stretch out my back, but I didn’t let go of her hand. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
Two hours passed. None of us had left the room. Visiting hours were long over, but the doctor had quietly told us we could stay. Maybe he saw something in our faces. Or maybe he had a daughter of his own.
Then, suddenly, her fingers twitched.
“Shit,” I whispered, eyes wide. “She moved.”
Owen shot up from his chair. He had probably felt it too. “Bliss? Baby?”
She shifted, her legs moved under the blanket. Then her eyes blinked open.
“Lissy,” Rhys whispered, his hand brushing over her foot. “Hey, sweet girl.”
Her gaze was glassy and unfocused. But then something shifted in her expression. Almost like she had a realization. Her eyes went wide, her body stiffened.
“No,” she croaked out. The sound cut right through me.
“Shhh, baby,” Owen said gently, reaching for her. “You’re safe. It’s okay. You’re at the hospital. You’re safe now.”
She looked at him, her eyes blinking fast, and her bottom lip trembled.
“Daddy,” she whimpered, reaching for him with a desperation I’d never seen on her face before.
He moved fast, climbing onto the edge of the bed and pulling her carefully into his arms, his hand cupping the back of her head while the other cradled her body. She curled into him like she was trying to disappear into his chest, and he held her like he was never letting go.
“I got you, sweetheart. I got you. You’re safe now,” he whispered over and over again, his voice shaking.
My stomach twisted.
She was broken. I could see it in her eyes. Whatever had happened in those missing days…it had scarred her deeply.
And we couldn’t undo that.
“Don’t leave me,” she choked out, her voice cracking down the middle. “Please don’t.”
Owen kissed the top of her head. “I won’t. I will never leave you. None of us will. You’re not alone. We’re all here, baby.”
He looked up at us then, motioning with one hand. “Come on.”
So we did.
Every one of us stepped forward. We gathered around her bed like a wall, shoulders touching, heads bowed. Careful not to crowd her. Careful not to touch her without her saying it was okay. But we surrounded her with presence, with love, with every ounce of strength we had left.
There were no more words to say.
So we just stood there. Let the weight fall off our shoulders completely. We cried, because our girl was alive. Damaged, but alive.
