The only family I have Left.

Chapter 26

The stillness of the hospital wing felt suffocating to Gracie. Her body was heavy, immobile, and every part of her seemed trapped in a state of numbness. But her mind was still alive, awake and fully aware. The silence of her prison was broken only by the soft voices around her, and today it was Lily's voice that filled the air.

Lily's words, though filled with care, carried the unmistakable weight of sorrow. "I don't know if you can hear me, Gracie," Lily said softly, her tone gentle, as though speaking to a fragile dream. "But I'm here. We're all here, just waiting for you to come back to us. Fred... he's been trying so hard to stay strong, but he misses you so much." There was a slight catch in Lily's voice. "We all do."

Gracie longed to respond, to let Lily know that she was still fighting, that she could hear every word. But her body remained unyielding, distant, trapped in an ocean of silence. The tears Gracie could not shed were all there, pooling in the corners of her consciousness. She wished she could cry out, reach out, do something. But nothing came. Only the ache of her stillness.

Lily continued, unaware of the storm that raged inside Gracie's mind. "Remember the times we spent laughing together? The pranks you and Fred would pull on us... Honestly, we couldn't get through a single day without you making us laugh." She paused, her voice faltering. "Gracie, please. If you can hear me, just know that I love you, and I need you to come back. We all need you."

Lily's words were warm, like a tether, and Gracie felt the faintest stir deep inside her. Her mind clung to them, and somewhere, deep in the prison of her motionless body, something shifted.

Then, just as Lily gently squeezed Gracie's hand, Gracie felt the smallest, faintest movement. A soft, involuntary twitch—her fingers moved, weakly, a tremor of life. Her body didn't listen, but her heart did, and it made the faintest, most fragile squeeze.

Lily's voice caught. "Gracie?" she whispered, her breath shallow with hope. "Did you—did you just squeeze my hand?"

Gracie's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a desperate plea. She wanted to say something—anything—to let Lily know she was still there. She opened her mouth, but no sound came, only the pressure building in her throat. And then, just as Lily's grip on her hand tightened with fresh hope, Gracie found a voice—faint, broken, but there.

"M-m... Ma..." The word escaped her lips in a weak, raspy whisper, barely audible, but unmistakable. It was a single syllable, the softest echo of a name that held all her love, her longing, her yearning for connection.

Lily gasped, her heart soaring with the tiny, fragile sound. "Gracie? Did you—? Did you just say Mum?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Oh, Gracie..."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Lily's fingers gently stroked Gracie's hand, as if trying to anchor her in the moment. "I'm here, Gracie. I'm right here," she whispered, her voice trembling with relief. "You're not alone. We're all here waiting for you. You don't have to fight anymore."

Gracie's body felt like it was fading, slipping back into the dark, silent void, but she held on. For that one, fleeting moment, she clung to Lily's presence, to the sound of her name—a spark in the dark. Her lips trembled with the effort, but she wanted to say more. She wanted to say I love you, I'm still here, I'll come back to you. But all she could do was lie there, silently weeping within herself, wishing with all her heart that she could speak, could move, could show them that she was still fighting.

Lily, still gripping her hand, whispered through her tears, "I love you, Gracie. Please come back to us."

Gracie's fingers twitched again, a faint, weak attempt to respond, to show that she was still there, still holding on.