LOGINAURORA The discharge papers were signed after all the back and forth and the final instructions given, the wheelchair was waiting by the door, but I sat there in my actual clothes for the first time in days, the fabric feeling strange against my skin after so many hospital gowns. My bag was packed and my things collected, but something was missing, something important. My daughter was still here, in the NICU, fighting for her life.I know the doctor has reassured me a million times that she was safe, I still couldn't think about anything else."Ms. Vale?" The nurse touched my shoulder. "You're all set. Mrs. Bayer is waiting for you outside."I nodded and stood up, my legs weak and unsteady, my body still recovering from everything it had been through. I walked out of the room and down the hallway, past the nurses' station and the waiting room and the doors that led to the NICU. I stopped for a moment and looked through the glass, pressing my hand against it. I could see her incubator
AURORA The days in the hospital blurred together.Each morning started the same way. I woke up to the beeping of machines and the pale light filtering through the blinds, the same white ceiling staring back at me. A nurse would come in to check my vitals, adjust my IV, ask me how I was feeling. I always gave the same answer: tired. And every morning, the nurses would wheel me down to the NICU to see my daughter.The NICU was a quiet room, hushed and solemn, filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the occasional cry of a newborn. The nurses moved with practiced efficiency, their voices low and soothing. I'd sit beside the incubator, my hand reaching through the small opening to touch her tiny fingers. She was so small, so fragile, her skin still pink and wrinkled, her little chest rising and falling with each breath. The tubes and wires connected to her tiny body were fewer now than they were a few days ago, a small sign of progress.She was getting stronger. I could see it in th
AURORA I was back in Sacramento. But it wasn't the Sacramento I remembered. It was a different version, a version where everything went right.The sun was warm on my skin, the sky a perfect blue without a single cloud in sight. I was standing in a garden, roses blooming all around me, their petals soft and red and fragrant, climbing up a trellis that had been painted white. The air smelled like honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass, the kind of smell that made you want to close your eyes and breathe it all in. A white fence stretched along the edge of the yard, and beyond it, a house stood tall and welcoming, its windows catching the afternoon light. The same house from my dreams. The same house from my fantasies. The same house I'd imagined a thousand times before, the one with the wraparound porch and the big oak tree in the front yard.I looked down and saw my daughter in my arms. She was older now, maybe two years old, her dark hair curling around her face, her eyes bright and curious.
AURORA The next time I opened my eyes, I didn't know where I was.The ceiling above me was white and the walls were white and everything was white and blurry and I couldn't focus on anything. My body felt heavy, like someone had filled me with concrete while I was sleeping. I tried to move my arm but it wouldn't obey. I tried to speak but my throat was dry and nothing came out except a small, strangled sound."She's waking up."A voice. Soft, somewhere to my left. I tried to turn my head but even that took too much effort, the movement sending a dull ache through my neck and shoulders."Aurora? Can you hear me?"I blinked slowly, the blurry shape above me coming into focus. A face. A woman. Dark hair pulled back. Glasses perched on her nose. Dr. Ellis."I—" My voice cracked, the word barely a whisper. "What—""You're in the hospital. You gave birth. Do you remember?"I tried to think. The memories came in fragments, pieces of a puzzle I couldn't quite put together. The pain. The ambu
LAURORA The words were still hanging in the air when the pain hit again.I was sitting at the counter, my hand on my stomach, trying to process everything Mrs. Bayer just told me. Mr. Bayer. The burglary. The medicine. The debt. All of it crashing down on me at once. And then the pain came, sharp and sudden, ripping through my lower back and wrapping around my stomach like a vice. I gasped and grabbed the edge of the counter. My hand slipped and I almost fell off the stool."Aurora?" Mrs. Bayer rushed over. "What's wrong?""I don't—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Another wave hit, stronger than the first, and I doubled over, my breath leaving me in a strangled cry. The pain was different this time. Deeper. More insistent. Like my body was telling me something I didn't want to hear."Oh God. Oh God, no." Mrs. Bayer's voice was shaking. "Maria! Call an ambulance! Now!"Maria dropped the tray she was holding and ran for the phone. I heard her voice, high and panicked, but I couldn't
AURORA The holiday sales were brutal.Thanksgiving came and went, and with it, a flood of customers looking for discounts on the pies and pastries Mrs. Bayer baked for weeks. The diner was packed every day from open to close, the line stretching out the door and winding down the sidewalk, the phone ringing off the hook with people calling in their orders. Maria and I worked double shifts without complaint, running between the kitchen and the front, our feet aching, our hands raw from washing dishes and carrying hot plates. The tips were good, better than they'd been in months, but the work was relentless.By mid-morning, the pastry case was nearly empty. Mrs. Bayer was in the back, rolling out more dough, her arms covered in flour, her face flushed from the heat of the oven. Maria was running between tables, her hair escaping from her ponytail, a tray of coffee cups balanced precariously in her hands. I was at the register, ringing up customers as fast as I could, my fingers moving a
AURORA I woke up to cold water dropping continuously on my feet.At first I thought I was dreaming, those very traumatizing dream where you keep run but don't go anywhere, or fall into water but can't swim when you know pretty well you can, or when a snake slither up your stomach all you can do is
AURORA I spent the rest of Sunday morning finishing what Mr. Bayer and I had started. The sofa was in place, the dresser against the wall, the bed in the corner, but the little things still needed doing, hanging a curtain over the small window, finding a spot for my suitcase, unpacking the last bo
AURORAI was still staring out the window at the empty street when my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I already knew who it was before I pulled it out.Only one person called me. With no family,
AURORA I walked slowly back toward the motel, my flats scuffing against the sidewalk.The sun was beginning to set and there was no better time to save money than now.Imagine what it would feel like to get that call. A paycheck every two weeks, a desk with my name on it, a reason to get up in the







