Page 112 of Stranger to Love

I looked toward the bed. Mum was still asleep, but the sickly greyish hue was gone, replaced by a faint touch of pink in her cheeks. Her breathing looked deeper.

"She’s okay," Carrie murmured. "The antibiotics are doing their job, Alex. She’s stirred a couple of times. It’s exactly what she needs."

I let out a long, shaky sigh. The clock on the wall read just after 10:00 a.m. I had been out for nearly eight hours. Carrie kept me firmly in her lap, her arms wrapped around my waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I looked across the bed at my dad. He was sitting in his recliner, a lukewarm cup of tea in his hand, and he didn't even blink at the sight of me on my lecturer’s lap. He just offered a tired, grateful little nod.

The absolute absurdity of the last twelve hours hit me. We had been on our first proper date, drinking mocktails and laughing. Now, she was a part of the furniture at my mother’s bedside. It should have made me want to run for the hills, but instead, it felt terrifyingly right. She had become my anchor.

A couple of hours later, Carrie finally moved back to the plastic chair, but only after she’d marched down to the café and returned with a tray of sandwiches.

"Carrie, you don’t have to stay," I whispered, picking at a wrap. Guilt was gnawing at me. "You had that meeting at nine. Your office... your reputation. We’re not your responsibility."

Carrie didn't look up from her coffee, but her hand found my knee, her grip firm. "Stop stressing about the university, Alex. I sent an email at six a.m. notifying them that I wouldn't be in. My responsibility is exactly where I want it to be."

I looked at her, my throat tight. I was about to argue when a wet, raspy cough cut through the room.

Our conversation died instantly. Dad sat bolt upright.

Mum’s eyes fluttered open, glazed but conscious. She looked confused, her gaze drifting from me to Dad, and then to the elegant woman standing just behind my shoulder. Carrie stayed back, a calm shadow, smiling softly.

"Karen," Dad breathed, reaching for her hand. "You're okay, love. You're in the hospital, but you're doing better."

Mum blinked at the three of us. It must have been a hell of a sight—Dad in his rumpled work clothes, and Carrie and I still dressed up for a five-star restaurant. I felt a wave of pure gratitude that Mum had already met Carrie before this.

Mum squeezed my hand back. It was weak, but it was there. She was going to be okay.

Mum had fallen asleep again, but this time it seemed restful rather than fucking terrifying. The frantic, shallow gasps had smoothed out into a steady rhythm that I could finally trust.

Dad left not long after she drifted off. It took a mountain of coaxing from me to get him out that door; Carrie stayed silent, clearly not wanting to intrude on the family dynamic, while I practically forced him to go home, shower, and change. He refused to get any proper sleep, promising he’d be back before the afternoon nurse could kick us out. That nurse had already unceremoniously informed us that since Mum was no longer a "critical emergency," we had to stick to official visiting hours. Knobhead.

I’d laid a firm hand on Carrie’s thigh when that was announced, mostly because she looked like she was about to rip the woman’s fucking face off, but I knew Mum needed the rest. And, frankly, so did we—even if the thought of leaving her bedside made me feel like I was losing a fucking arm.

Pneumonia. I still couldn't wrap my head around it. I reached out for Carrie’s hand, and she took it without a second of hesitation. I was still just staring at Mum, with Carrie sitting next to me on that same stupid plastic chair. This woman... I didn’t know what kind of a catastrophic fucking mess I would have been without her. Mum had been in the hospital before, and I’d had to "step up" more times than I could count, but having Carrie here—this steady, unwavering presence—had been invaluable.

I lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, a silent, heavy thank you. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss into my hair. No words. She was just there.

Dad came back an hour later looking much more like himself. He was in a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and he actually smelled like soap instead of stewing in his own stress-sweat. He sank into the recliner across from me, and I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my mouth.

"Thank God, Dad. You were starting to stink up the ward."

He flipped me off with a tired grin that made me actually laugh. "Honestly, Lex. What sort of daughter are you?"

"Your favourite one," I chuckled.

He shrugged, looking at Mum. "That’s true."

"I should hope so," I rolled my eyes. "As your only child, I’d be pretty pissed if you said otherwise."

Dad laughed, and that brief back-and-forth gave me more life than the hospital coffee ever could. Even as we joked, our eyes were still glued to Mum, watching every rise and fall of her chest.

"Well," Dad retorted, his eyes flickering toward the woman beside me. "I have to say, out of the two of you, Caroline is starting to climb the ranks, darl."

My heart did a fucking spectacular somersault. He was joking, but the suggestion that he saw Carrie as a "contender" for the favourite-child spot hit me hard. We weren't anywhere fucking near that, but this past day had driven everything into a fucking hyper-drive. She became family in the blink of an eye.

I scoffed, playing off the sudden lump in my throat. "Excuse me!"

I turned to Carrie with a playful glare. She just smirked and shrugged, her expression saying, Well, you can't blame the man. I am amazing.