My father is home now. He’s healthy and more fit than I’ve seen him in a long time, actually. He’s still working with his physical therapist and will for a while and has modified his diet even though we know his unhealthy habits weren’t what put him in a hospital. But it’s better that he takes care of himself. I feel that Hazel moving back into the house with Michael is the reason for a lot of this. She’s pretty strict when it comes to Michael, and she won’t let my dad eat anything she wouldn’t let her son eat. My dad complained about it, but I could see he was happy to have her home. Happy to have them both home.

My mother is gone, and a divorce is in the works. I hope she’ll find happiness, too. I know she didn’t visit me in the hospital. Not once. Eva told me that, but I don’t think she meant to. I would have known anyway because my memories have returned, and I recall hearing Eva in my room talking to me or the others who kept watch over me. I recall many of their visits even though they feel like wisps of dreams. Not once did I hear my mother’s voice.

The doctors never did solidify what they think happened to me. Why I remained unconscious and unresponsive for so long. There is a theory that it was my body’s reaction to the physical impact of the accident after such stressful months. A sort of PTSD. It scares me sometimes to think of it. To think it could happen again even though the rational part of me knows I’m safe. I haven’t told Santiago this. He already keeps vigil over me 24/7, and I don’t need him worrying any more than he already is.

I look down at Elena’s face as she stirs in her sleep when we get outside. It’s a chilly day, so I tuck her blankets closer.

I am sad about having missed her final months in my belly. Sad that she may have felt alone with me so unresponsive to her movements. At least I got to feel her once before everything.

I’m also sad I can’t breastfeed her. My milk never did come in. But Santiago reassures me that I will breastfeed all of our other children and that Elena will be fine. She is healthy and strong.

Looking at the photos the nurses managed to snap of him feeding her those first few days makes me giggle. He looks so uncomfortable, shoulders high with stress as he cradles this tiny thing against his bare chest while feeding her.

I reach up and squeeze his hand at the memory of those pictures.