Billie Eilish and her daughter imagines

Trying to stay strong 2

The morning sun filtered through the hospital room window, casting a soft glow over the quiet scene. Billie lay asleep in the chair beside Amelia's bed, her hand still clutching her daughter's. The room was peaceful until Billie began to stir, her senses picking up on soft whimpering and gentle crying.

Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light, and she saw Amelia awake, looking around with wide, confused eyes. Billie's heart leaped with joy and relief, but her happiness was tempered by the sight of her daughter. Something was off. Amelia didn't seem like herself.

"Amelia, sweetheart, you're awake," Billie said softly, her voice filled with emotion.

Amelia turned towards her mother, her expression blank. She made soft, whimpering noises and tried to speak, but her words came out in a garbled, babyish manner.

The nurses quickly responded to Billie's call, rushing into the room to check on Amelia. They began asking her questions, trying to assess her condition.

"Amelia, can you tell us your name?" one of the doctors asked gently.

Amelia blinked slowly, her gaze unfocused. "Um... Amee-yuh," she replied in a childlike tone, struggling to form the words.

Another nurse asked, "Do you know where you are?"

Amelia shook her head slightly, her brow furrowing. "Hos-pi-tal?" she said uncertainly.

Billie's heart sank as she watched her daughter struggle to speak. She held Amelia's hand tightly, trying to offer comfort as the doctors continued their examination.

"Amelia, can you tell us what day it is today?" the doctor inquired.

Amelia blinked again, her confusion evident. "Day?" she repeated, her voice trailing off. "Um... I dunno."

The nurses exchanged concerned glances. One of them, a seasoned pediatric nurse who had seen cases like this before, stepped forward with a thoughtful expression.

"Amelia, sweetheart, do you remember your pacifier and your stuffed animal?" she asked gently.

Amelia's eyes brightened slightly at the mention of her pacifier and stuffed animal. "Paci?" she asked hopefully.

Billie watched, her heart in her throat, as the nurse handed Amelia her pacifier and stuffed animal from the bedside table. Amelia took them eagerly, clutching the pacifier in her mouth and hugging the stuffed animal close to her chest.

"It's okay, Amelia," the nurse said soothingly. "You can hold onto them."

Amelia seemed to relax slightly, her demeanor becoming more childlike as she sucked on the pacifier and cuddled the stuffed animal. The nurse turned to the other medical staff, her voice calm but serious.

"I think Amelia may be experiencing regressive behavior," she explained. "It's not uncommon for trauma patients to revert to a younger age as a coping mechanism."

The doctors nodded, understanding dawning on their faces. They continued to monitor Amelia closely, adjusting their approach to provide the care and support she needed in her current state.

As the doctors and nurses continued their examination of Amelia, they carefully asked her questions to gauge her cognitive state.

"Amelia, can you tell us how old you are?" one of the doctors asked gently.

Amelia blinked slowly, her expression confused. "Baby?" she replied uncertainly, her voice small and hesitant.

The doctors exchanged concerned glances, adjusting their approach to the situation. Another nurse asked, "Do you know who this is?" pointing to Billie.