Futile the Winds || s.reid

7. Are You - Nobody - Too?

Well past midnight, the car ride to your apartment from the hospital was silent.

Hope sat on your lap sound asleep, the three stitches up by her hairline the only indicator of the events of the day. Still, despite the fact that she was, by all other metrics, fine, your hand trembled where it rested on the back of her head, gently running through her hair. In the driver's seat, Spencer drove your car with both hands tight on the steering wheel.

It wasn't his fault—it was an accident, and a miscommunication made worse by your forgetfulness.

You weren't sure what you expected to find when you arrived at the hospital. The social worker on the phone—Kiyomi—had been vague, even when you demanded details. You were escorted to a consultation room, where you found Spencer, somehow both red-faced and pale, his hair mused from running his fingers through it in distress.

Hope had fallen off of a jungle gym shortly after you hung up the phone with them. Rather, according to Spencer, who had looked down for a second to get Hope a snack out of his backpack, Hope had said, "Spencer, watch!" before fully launching herself off of the top of the jungle gym. The ground beneath the structure was composed of mulch, but the momentum had her lurching forward as she landed, sending her face first into the ground onto a stray bottle cap.

As smart as she was, Hope was also just a child—a young child. Sometimes, you forgot that, too. It could've been worse, too; she could have broken or sprained something. But she'd just have a bump on her head for a few days, and a funny scar story to tell for the rest of her life, just like everyone else on the planet.

Really—it was just kid stuff. She was fine.

What was less fine was the fact that the hospital had called CPS on Spencer when he failed to provide documented proof that he was Hope's father.

The birth certificate associated with Hope's medical records listed her last name under your Witness Protection alias. She had a real one that the US Marshal Services possessed, but there were so many moving parts to your return that correcting Hope's documents fell to the wayside.

So, when you showed up to the hospital, you couldn't really prove that you were actually Hope's mother, either.

It took hours of phone calls and interviews to finally convince the hospital to at least let you see her. Had it gone on for much longer, they would have put her in an emergency foster care placement for the night.

That was when you called Preston directly.

Not a lot of people are willing to tell the Director of the FBI "no," and once he got in contact with the higher ups at the US Marshals Service, they were able to provide the documents necessary to amend Hope's files.

It was a mess, but in light of what Samuel had revealed, you were just grateful to have her in your arms.

It was hard to really be upset about any of this when you knew she was safe.

For now.

That's how your life seemed to be divided—into episodes of being safe, for now. Never just safe. It seemed like your daughter would inherit the curse from you.

When you got to your apartment, you roused her for just long enough to change her into pajamas before tucking her in. She'd probably sleep well into the morning.

You found Spencer sitting at the foot of your bed. He gave you a tight lipped smile as you shut the door quietly behind you and joined him.

You blew out a heavy breath. "How are you doing?"