“Your love for your child,” she murmurs softly. “That love will eclipse everything else. It will change you. There’s nothing else in the world like it. No matter how broken you might feel, I can promise you, the moment you meet that baby, the world stops spinning, and you realize your true purpose in this life. You will do anything to protect them. You would gladly lay down your life for them. And I don’t need a crystal ball to tell you that you’ll feel the same.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be a good mother.” The confession falls from my lips unbidden. “I’m terrified I’m going to screw this up.”

Ivy laughs gently. “Oh, don’t worry. You will screw up. We all do. But what matters is that you keep trying. You learn from your mistakes, and you do better.”

Her admission eases some of the anxiety in my chest because at least I know I’m not alone in that department.

“Now here comes the hard part,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“You have to start now. You need to get up. Move. Eat. Function. Even if you don’t feel like it. Your baby needs you. It’s time to remember who you are and show that child the De La Rosa blood runs strong. With that, you can conquer anything.”

Her words settle over me, and as much as my brain wants to disregard them and stay exactly where I’m at, I know she’s right. I’ve wallowed. I’ve grieved. But I have a life to create. I have a future to establish. And I can’t do that lying in bed feeling sorry for myself.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Good.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it in hers. “Now first thing’s first. We need to get you cleaned up.”

I nod. Ivy pulls back the covers, and slowly, I sit up. It’s harder than I expect because I’m weak, my muscles aching from days of doing nothing. When my feet hit the floor, and I try to stand on my own, I quickly realize that I can’t.

“It’s okay.” Ivy grabs my arms. “Your body is tired. Let me help you.”

I don’t want to let her help me, mostly because I’m stubborn, and I was actually inspired by her reminder of the blood that runs in my veins. But I know she’s not going to let me give up now when she’s gotten me halfway.

“Remember, I’ve been where you are,” she says. “I know it’s not fun. I’m still not back to a hundred percent myself, but I have a few party tricks from my physical therapy that will make it easier.”

She maneuvers herself in front of me, bends, and wraps me in a hug. Immediately, I stiffen, and she laughs.