Dr. Osterman cleared her throat, signaling that she was still there. “Ash is in and out of consciousness. She may not be able to speak, but she can hear you. Talking to her may help. If you need anything, let the nurses know and they’ll page me,” Dr. Osterman said.

As she headed out, Becca called after her. “Did Ash say anything when they brought her in? About who did this to her?’

“She was unconscious when they brought her in. She came to for a few minutes after surgery and kept asking for her mom.”

Her mom. Ash asked for her mom. The revelation landed like emotional dynamite. Becca let out a cry, holding her hand up to her mouth as if she could somehow contain the sobs threatening to explode from her. Dr. Osterman gently patted Becca on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

The woman’s kind, pitying stare only made it worse. Becca closed her eyes, willing the doctor to leave. After a few seconds, she heard the door close, and Becca lost it, weepily openly, not caring who heard her.

Ash was broken and battered, but she was alive. Ash was alive and fighting. The only sound in the room was the beeping of the monitors. Becca nervously eyed the monitors above Ash’s bed. Her vitals were terribly low, which made her condition even more real.

“If you could hear me, you’d probably tell me I was being ridiculous,” Becca said through her tears. The quiet was disconcerting. Becca scooted even closer, grabbing her phone and searching through Ash’s country playlist.

Becca pressed shuffle. Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places” filled the room. This was Ash’s go-to karaoke song. “You can’t help but smile when it’s on,” Ash had once said, and it was true.

Becca reached out to stroke Ash’s cheek. There were so many things left for Ash to do. She was supposed to graduate high school and backpack across Europe. She deserved a chance to go to college and make bad fashion choices and find a career that fulfilled her and fall in love with someone kind and decent. Becca envisioned her trips home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Ash regaling her with stories about annoying coworkers and promotions. She imagined Ash having her own kids, complaining about how hard it was, while Becca lovingly reminded Ash of her own rebellious years. It was possible, Becca told herself. It wasn’t over yet. Ash was still here, still fighting.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Becca said softly. Ash’s hand twitched. Taking this as a sign, Becca squeezed her hand tighter.