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A month later, I was back in Connecticut recovering at the St. Clairmont estate. I had suffered multiple fractures, including my back, which was now stabilized with metal hardware. The doctors warned me my recovery would be difficult but said I might walk again someday.
Since I didn’t have a suitable home and needed privacy from the press, Seraphina offered her family’s house. She would oversee my rehabilitation and helped create a recovery plan. At her request, my father saw that the estate was equipped with everything I needed.
Gwendolyn St. Clairmont assigned the third floor to me and had the den transformed into a living space. Next to it, she created an area just for my rehabilitation equipment.
Dad also insisted Thatcher receive top care, as he had been paralyzed from the waist down in the crash. The doctors weren’t very hopeful about his prognosis, but both our families remained optimistic.
I didn’t fully understand, but there was a lot we were apparently hiding about the crash from the public, the press, and even Seraphina’s family. I felt uncomfortable about the secrecy, but Ellington insisted it was for the best, so I listened to him.
Everything was fine, except having Sephie next to me felt wrong. I was taking time away from her own dreams. She wanted to be a doctor and help others.
“You should be finishing school, not stuck here with me,” I told her one day.
She grinned excitedly in response. “Actually, I changed schools and my major. I might graduate this semester if I do well. Then I can start my PhD next fall.”
“A PhD? What happened to medicine?” I asked. She was so busy with me that she barely told me anything about herself, and I hated that too.
“Pfft, that’s not for me,” she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “If I have to lose more sleep trying to memorize books, I might scream.”
“Sephie?” I pressed gently. “This isn’t what you had planned. You wanted to study medicine, and we discussed it at length. That’s why you decided not to pursue music even though my dad could’ve helped you get into any school.”
“Physical therapy helps a lot of people, like you and Dad,” she stated confidently, lifting her chin. “I want to make a difference in lives in a more hands-on way. Working one-on-one with patients, helping them heal, and . . . I doubt I could be a doctor. Not after what I lived through while I stayed in the hospital with you.”
Her eyes were bright with purpose as she continued. “I can still go to med school later if I want. But for now, this feels right. I think it’s where I’m meant to be.”
“If it’s what you really want, then I’m happy for you,” I said, squeezing her hand. Her optimism was contagious. She made me believe anything was possible—including my own recovery.
“But if this gets to be too much?” I didn’t know exactly what I was asking, but I threw it out there. “I just don’t think it’s fair for you to just stop your plans because I’m a little broken.”
She ran her hand gently through my hair. “We’re getting through this together. You’ll walk again, I know it. In a couple years, you’ll be back on stage, singing your heart out.”
“But he won’t be there,” I mumbled, grief for my lost friend swelling up. Without Zane, my music would never be the same.
Seraphina touched her hand lightly to my chest, over my heart. “He’ll always be here. Close your eyes and listen to his music. You two will continue creating melodies for eternity.”
I didn’t know if that was really true. But her words ignited a faint spark of hope. She made me believe I could find a way forward, even without my best friend by my side.
Chapter Fourteen
Seraphina
I glanced at my phone, reading Mom’s latest text one more time.
Mom: Sorry sweetie, your dad thinks it’s best if we stay home for the night. He’s not feeling well.
Sera: I understand.
But I really didn’t. Yes, we’d lost Zane and Iris. It was tragic and hurt too much when I remembered that I couldn’t call them, check on them or . . . It fucking hurt a lot. However, my parents also forgot I was still here. Most days, they treated me like an afterthought, just the help doing a poor job of getting Dad to walk again. I knew it was their grief, but I wished things could be different. I wasn’t asking them to be the way they were before, but . . . couldn’t they just give me some love?
Mom: If you go to med school, maybe you can study something to cure your dad. Think about it.
I scoffed. What about congratulations? I wanted to scream. Like every other time, I remained quiet and composed, respecting them because they were in a world of pain.
Sighing, I turned to look around the bustling auditorium. It buzzed with that nervous energy you always get at graduations. All those voices blended as we waited to be called to take our seats.
Under the swanky chandeliers, it was just this sea of black gowns shuffling around, everyone trying to find their place in line. The whole place felt huge. Every noise was bouncing off the walls.
Mila approached me, looking so proud like she was about to burst. She’d been my total rock through all those brutal all-nighters and anxiety attacks. She squeezed my arm and whispered, “Congratulations. You made it, girl.”
