Archive of Our Own

Agatha woke to the soft hum of the TV and the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her body.

The living room was dim, the golden glow of the afternoon sun spilling through the curtains. She blinked groggily, her head still heavy with sleep.

She had been waiting for something, right?

Waiting for the familiar sound of Rio’s truck pulling into the driveway, for Nicky’s excited footsteps as he ran through the door.

But the house was silent.

With a small sigh, she reached for her phone on the coffee table, expecting a text from Rio saying they were running late.

Instead?

Five missed calls.

Her stomach flip-flopped.

All of them were from an unknown number. As she stared at the screen, it vibrated again. Another call from the same number.

She swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Agatha Vidal?”

The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, calm but urgent. Agatha hadn’t heard someone refer to her by that last name in months; sure, she wasn’t about to revert back to the Harkness last name and continue on her horrid family’s legacy, but she also wasn’t prepared to hear someone refer to her by her ex-wife’s last name.

“Yes.” She said slowly, sitting up. “Who is this?”

“This is Dr. Robbins from St. Vincent’s Hospital. I need to inform you — there’s been an accident.”

Everything stopped.

The room, the air, her heartbeat .

“What?” She breathed out.

“There was a collision on the highway, due to the stormy weather conditions.” The doctor explained, her voice careful. “Your son and his mother, Rio, were involved. Your son is stable, but shaken. Ms. Vidal sustained critical injuries and is in surgery. You should come as soon as possible.”

Her breath hitched. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her hands shook.

“No.” She whispered, to herself more than Dr Robbins. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening again.

But the doctor kept talking, giving her more details, repeating herself when she didn’t respond.

And then-

“ Momma !”

She sucked in a hiss of a breath at the sound of Nicky’s voice in the background — high, panicked, crying.

“ I need my Momma, please! Is she-”

“I’ll be right there.” She blurted out, barely recognizing her own voice.

She hung up before the doctor could say anything else.

For a moment, she sat there, frozen. Her mind was a mess of images, memories, fear.

And then she moved.

Her keys. Where were her keys?

She found them on the kitchen counter. Grabbed her wallet. Her shoes. She didn’t even remember putting them on.

The next thing she knew, she was running out the door.

Fumbling with the lock. Slamming it shut.

Her hands trembled as she got into the car, as she shoved the key into the ignition.

And then she was speeding down the street, barely aware of the world outside her windshield.

She didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

All she could hear was Nicky’s voice over the phone, terrified and crying. And the doctor’s words echoing over and over again in her head.

Ms. Vidal sustained critical injuries and is in surgery.

Rio was hurt.

Rio was dying.

And Agatha…

Well, Agatha was bounding into the hospital waiting room, her eyes locking onto fragile little Nicky like some high-tech robot, running over to him as he cried out for her in an instant.

“Momma!” Nicky’s eyes were wide as he met her in the middle, crashing into her knees with instability.

Her eyes searched his tear-stained face, looking for signs of injury. She felt the tremble of his small body against hers as he clung tightly, his breath coming in hiccups. 

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. I’m here.” She rubbed his back soothingly, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of Rio, or a doctor to explain what was happening.

“The car... it flipped over, Momma!” Nicky’s voice was high with panic, his body trembling in Agatha’s arms. “Mami’s not waking up! She’s hurt so badly!”

Agatha’s eyes grew wide with horror as she listened to her son’s broken words. She pulled him closer, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“Shh, baby, it’s okay. The doctors are taking care of her right now.”

Nicky’s sobs grew louder, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

“But she’s not okay, Momma! She’s not okay! I tried to wake her up, but she just wouldn’t wake up!” He looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, his voice a desperate wail.

Agatha’s heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. She just held him tighter. The sight of her son’s fear brought back all the pain of the past, and she realized that she wasn’t just afraid of losing Nicky now — she was afraid of losing Rio.

Agatha held Nicky tighter, rocking him instinctively as her own breath hitched. His words clawed at her chest, and for a moment, her mind refused to process them. The car… it flipped over. She could barely make sense of it. The white walls of the hospital room blurred, and her pulse thundered in her ears. Not again. Not again.

Her throat tightened as she forced herself to speak, to reassure Nicky even though the foundation of her own voice was crumbling. 

“It’s not your job to wake her up, sweetheart.” She murmured, her voice trembling. “The doctors are doing everything they can. And your Mami is strong, okay? She’s the strongest person I know.”

The lie nearly choked her. Rio was strong, yes - stubborn and reckless, too, the same qualities that once made Agatha fall in love with her and later drove them apart. Agatha didn’t know if Rio could survive this, though. And it terrified her.

Nicky’s little body still trembled, every sob cutting her like glass. His small hands gripped the back of her shirt as though letting go would send him spiraling into oblivion. 

How do I hold him together when I’m fucking falling apart myself? 

Unwanted images of Rio flashed in her mind — Rio behind the wheel, her confident smirk as she reassured Agatha she had everything under control. Then, the scene twisted into something darker: the sound of screeching tires, glass shattering…

Nicky’s screams from two years ago. The hospital, back then, smelled the same. The antiseptic stench stung her nose now as sharply as it did then. The difference was that, last time, it was her son’s life that hung in the balance, and Rio had been the one crying over his tiny, broken body.

She had promised herself she’d never forgive Rio for that crash. And she hadn’t — not really. Even when she agreed to joint custody, even when she swallowed her fury to make things easier for Nicky. 

Deep down, the resentment festered. How could you risk his life like that? She had wanted to scream it every time Rio came to pick him up, every time Nicky begged for “ one more minute ” with his Mami. But she hadn’t. She buried it for Nicky’s sake.

And now… Rio might die.

The thought sent a sickening lurch through her chest. Denial rose up, hot and choking. Rio couldn’t die. She wouldn’t. Rio was too full of life, too infuriating, too much a part of Nicky. But a smaller voice whispered in Agatha’s mind, one she didn’t want to hear: You hated her for this. You hated her for the risks she took. And now this is what it’s come to.

Nicky sobbed harder, dragging her back into the present. She kissed his hair, her lips trembling against his soft curls. 

“You’re safe, baby. You’re safe.” She whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was saying it for him or for herself.

Agatha’s stomach twisted at the thought of doctors huddled around her ex-wife, fighting to undo whatever terrible damage the crash had caused. She imagined Rio unconscious, her body still and pale, just like Nicky’s had been two years ago. And then she thought about Rio not waking up. About having to explain to her son that his Mami was never coming back. About raising him alone, in a world where half of his heart would always be missing.

“Momma.” Nicky whimpered, his voice small and broken. “What if she dies?”

The question hit her like a punch to the gut. She tightened her grip on him, as if holding him close could somehow keep both of them from falling apart. 

“She’s not going to die,” she said firmly, though her voice cracked. “She’s not, Nicky. She loves you too much to leave you. She’ll fight. You know how stubborn your Mami is, don’t you? She’ll fight.”

Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously, taking a seat in one of the chairs without another word.

⚢

Agatha had cradled Nicky in her arms for what felt like an eternity, her body rigid from holding him so tightly. 

She sat in one of the stiff plastic chairs in the waiting room, her legs aching from hours of stillness. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, a sound she would have ignored if it weren’t for the unbearable silence in her head, broken only by Nicky’s hiccupping sobs that had softened over time. His exhaustion had taken over, his small frame sagging against her as his cries dwindled to heavy breaths. She smoothed his hair absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on the clock across the room. Every second that passed felt like another thread unraveling from the fragile fabric of her control.

“Ms. Vidal?” a soft voice called, breaking through the haze. 

Agatha looked up to see a nurse — an older woman with gentle eyes and a tired smile — standing a few feet away. “I know it’s hard, but I really need to check on your son’s injuries now. Just to make sure he’s okay.”

Agatha tightened her grip on Nicky, her instinct to shield him flaring up. 

“He’s fine.” She said too quickly, her voice raw. “He’s just shaken up. He doesn’t need—”

“Momma.” Nicky mumbled, barely awake. His voice was thin, as fragile as the little body in her arms. “I’m okay. You can let me go.”

Agatha’s throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. Letting go of him felt impossible, like she’d lose her grip on reality itself. But the nurse’s kind expression didn’t waver, and Nicky’s small hand pressed against hers as if to reassure her. Finally, reluctantly, she nodded.

“Okay.” She whispered, her voice cracking. “Just for a little bit.”

The nurse moved closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she understood that Agatha was on the verge of breaking. Agatha kissed the top of Nicky’s head before carefully transferring him to the nurse’s arms. 

As soon as he was out of her grasp, she felt untethered, like the only thing keeping her grounded had been taken away. She sat frozen, watching until the nurse disappeared down the hallway with Nicky, her heart twisting with every step they took.

When they were gone, the suffocating silence returned, but this time it was accompanied by a wave of something darker. She stood abruptly, her legs unsteady as she scanned the waiting room. A doctor stood nearby, his face buried in a clipboard, his white coat a sharp contrast against the dull grey walls. Agatha moved toward him with purpose, her steps uneven but determined.

“Doctor.” She called, her voice strained. 

When he looked up, she saw the exhaustion in his eyes. He was young, probably in his thirties, and he seemed to hesitate when he saw her.

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked, his tone cautious.

“I need to know how Rio’s doing.” She said, her voice trembling but firm. “She’s been in there for hours. No one’s told me anything. Please, I need to know.”

The doctor’s expression shifted, a subtle tightening of his jaw that sent a cold spike of dread through her chest. “Ms. Vidal—”

“It’s Agatha.” She interrupted. Ms. Vidal felt like a cruel joke, a reminder of a life she no longer had. 

“Just tell me. Is she… Is she alive? Is she going to be okay?”

The doctor shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his clipboard before meeting her eyes again. 

“We’re doing everything we can,” he said carefully. “The injuries are… extensive. There’s a lot of internal damage, and she lost a significant amount of blood. Right now, she’s in critical condition.”

Critical condition. 

“But she’s alive.” She pressed, her voice rising slightly. “You can save her, right?”

The doctor hesitated, and it was that hesitation that broke her. She felt the fury rise up like a tidal wave, unstoppable and raw.

“What the hell does that mean?” She snapped, her voice sharp and brittle. “You’re the doctor, aren’t you? You’re supposed to know! What do you mean you’re ‘doing everything you can’? That’s not an answer! Is she going to live or not?”

“Ma’am, I understand you’re upset.” The doctor began, his tone even but guarded. “But these things take time. We need to monitor her closely over the next—”

“Time?!” Agatha cut him off, her voice cracking under the weight of her grief and frustration. “I’ve been sitting here for five hours. I’ve been holding my son while he cried himself sick because he thought his mother was dead . And now you’re standing here telling me you don’t know if she’s going to make it? Do you have any idea—” Her voice broke, and she pressed her fists to her temples, trying to hold herself together. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to him? To me ?”

The doctor didn’t respond immediately, and Agatha felt tears burning her eyes. She turned away, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her face. She hated this — the helplessness, the not knowing. She hated that Rio had done this to them again, and she hated that she still cared so much.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said softly after a long pause. “I truly am. We’ll update you as soon as we know more.”

Agatha let out a shaky breath, nodding without looking at him. She didn’t trust herself to speak again. When she finally sat back down, her hands gripping the edge of the chair, she felt the weight of everything pressing down on her all over again. Her anger had burned out, leaving only the ache of uncertainty. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting to Rio — the woman who had broken her heart and yet still held a piece of it, the woman who might not wake up.

And for the first time in years, Agatha silently prayed.

⚢

Agatha continued to sit in the cold waiting room, her body heavy and numb as her thoughts spiraled in every direction. She tried to focus on the present — on Rio, on Nicky, on the doctors behind the swinging double doors — but the past pulled at her, dragging her back into memories she had no strength to resist.

Her mother’s voice was the first thing to rise from the depths, sharp and biting, slicing through the years like a blade. 

“You are disgusting, Agatha. An abomination. I didn’t raise my daughter to be one of those people.” 

She could still feel the sting of Evanora’s hand across her cheek, the dull ache that lingered in her ribs after one of her outbursts. Her mother’s wrath had been as predictable as the seasons, though winter in their home had lasted far longer than any other time of year.

Agatha had been seventeen when her mother found the letter she’d written to the girl in her science class — the one with the warm smile and ginger hair. It was nothing scandalous, just a love-struck teenager trying to express feelings she didn’t yet have words for. But that letter had been the beginning of the end. The beatings got worse after that, the insults sharper, more calculated to draw blood.

And then, one day, Evanora had thrown her out. 

No warning, no chance to grab more than a bag of clothes. Just the slam of the door and her mother’s voice behind it, hissing, “You’re not my daughter anymore.”

She didn’t cry that day. Not until years later, when she found herself sitting on the floor of a cramped apartment, head in her hands, sobbing over a pipe that wouldn’t stop leaking.

That’s when she’d met Rio.

Rio wasn’t what Agatha had expected when the building manager sent “a handyman” up to fix the plumbing. She was tall, with broad shoulders and a grease-streaked tank top, her hair pulled back in an awfully-tied-up bun. 

She had smiled at Agatha, a lopsided grin that made something twist in Agatha’s stomach, and said, “Let me guess — this place giving you trouble already?”

Agatha couldn’t remember what she’d said in response, only that she’d felt her face flush as she watched Rio crouch down to work. She’d been captivated by the way Rio moved, so sure of herself, so casual yet focused.

The kiss had come out of nowhere. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it had been building from the moment Rio had walked through the door. 

But when Rio stood up, wiped her hands on a rag, and said, “All set,” Agatha had leaned in without thinking, her lips brushing Rio’s in a fleeting, desperate moment of courage.

Rio had laughed softly, a low, warm sound, before pulling Agatha in for a real kiss. That was the beginning of everything.

Agatha smiled bitterly at the memory, the corners of her mouth trembling. She had loved Rio so much in those early days. Loved her humor, her resilience, her endless optimism. Even when they’d fought — and they’d fought often, two stubborn personalities clashing over every little thing — they had always made up with just as much intensity.

The happiest day of Agatha’s life had been their wedding. 

Rio had insisted on fixing the venue’s faulty lights herself, climbing a ladder in her suit minutes before the ceremony while Agatha stood in her dress, trying not to laugh and cry all at once. Their vows had been messy and unrehearsed, full of inside jokes and stolen glances that made their guests cheer. It had been perfect.

And then there was Nicky. Their sweet, beautiful boy. Agatha had never wanted kids — not until Rio brought it up, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she talked about them. The moment they brought Nicky home, Agatha knew her life would never be the same. He had filled every corner of their world with light, his laughter the music that kept them moving forward. The four years they spent together as a family were the best years of Agatha’s life.

Until the crash.

Agatha’s chest tightened as the memory rose unbidden, sharper and more vivid than anything else. 

She remembered arriving at the hospital, her heart pounding as she ran through the halls, desperate for answers. A nurse had stopped her, explaining that Nicky was in surgery, his injuries severe but not hopeless. And then she’d seen Rio, sitting in the waiting room with a bloodied lip and a bruised arm, her face pale and drawn.

“It was my fault.” Rio had said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t paying attention… I thought I could make the turn…”

Agatha had felt something break inside her in that moment. Nicky had been fighting for his life, and Rio — Rio, who was supposed to protect him — had walked away with barely a scratch.

She had tried to forgive Rio, for Nicky’s sake. But every time she looked at her wife, all she could see was the crash. All she could hear were screeching tires, the shattering glass, the silence that had followed.

The argument had been inevitable. Agatha had held it in for weeks, but one night, after Nicky was asleep, it all came pouring out.

“How could you do this to him?” She had yelled, her voice cracking with rage and grief. “How could you risk his life like that? Were you even thinking, or were you too busy being your reckless, selfish self?”

Rio had tried to defend herself, but Agatha didn’t let her. She blamed her for everything—for the crash, for Nicky’s pain, for the way their lives had been upended. 

And when she couldn’t yell anymore, she had looked at Rio with tear-filled eyes and said the words that changed everything: “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t… I don’t trust you. I want a divorce.”

Now, sitting in the hospital waiting room, Agatha wondered if Rio had forgiven her. She had never apologized for the things she said that night, never told Rio that the anger had been her way of coping with the fear. And now it might be too late.

Her hands trembled as she buried her face in them, the weight of it all threatening to crush her. 

Please, Rio, she thought, her silent prayer breaking through the walls she’d built around her heart. 

Please don’t leave us. Please don’t leave me.

Agatha startled slightly when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching. She looked up to see Nicky walking toward her, cradling a juice box in both hands, his fingers gripping the cardboard so tightly it crinkled under the pressure. His eyes were red and puffy, his face still damp with dried tears.

She opened her arms without a word, and he stepped into them immediately, curling against her as if he were still small enough to fit perfectly against her chest. Agatha held him tightly, pressing a kiss into his curls.

For a moment, they just sat there, the steady rise and fall of their breathing the only sound between them. 

But then, in the smallest, most broken voice she had ever heard, Nicky whispered, “Is Mami going to die?”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to stay strong, to keep it together for him. 

“No, baby.” She murmured, even though she wasn’t sure if it was a lie. “She’s fighting. She’s really strong, remember? She wouldn’t leave you.”

Nicky let out a shaky breath but didn’t say anything. She could feel his little body trembling against hers.

Desperate to keep his mind from spiralling — and to keep herself from drowning in her own thoughts — Agatha smoothed his hair and said softly, “Tell me about your weekend with Mami. What did you guys do?”

Nicky sniffled and was quiet for a long time, but then he took a small sip of his juice and whispered, “We went to the zoo.”

Agatha forced a smile. “Yeah? Did you see the lions?”

He nodded. “And the penguins. Mami let me pick out a stuffed one from the gift shop. I named him Pebbles.”

“Pebbles.” She repeated, her voice warm despite the ache in her chest. “That’s a good name.”

Nicky sniffed again, shifting so his face was pressed against her shoulder. 

“After the zoo, we went bowling.” He continued, his voice a little steadier. “I almost won, but Mami got a strike at the end.”

Agatha chuckled softly. “Of course she did. She always has to win.”

“Yeah.” Nicky’s small voice was tinged with the faintest hint of fondness. “Then we went to the arcade. Mami got so many tickets, she let me get a new Hot Wheels car.”

Agatha rubbed his back in slow, comforting circles. “Sounds like you had a really fun day.”

He nodded against her shoulder. “The next day, we just stayed home. I taught her how to play Minecraft, and she was really bad at it.”

Agatha smiled. “She always has been.”

“But she tried.” Nicky said softly. “She built a house for us, and it kinda looked like a box, but she was proud of it.”

“I bet it was the best box house ever.”

Nicky let out the smallest giggle, but it faded quickly. “Then we went to breakfast.” He murmured. “I got pancakes. And then…”

His breath hitched. Agatha felt him tense in her arms.

“And then.” He repeated, his voice shaking. “We were driving back to your house, and… and then the car flipped.”

His little body trembled all over again. The juice box slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a soft thud as his tiny fingers clutched at her sweater. His breathing turned ragged, and then, just like before, he began to sob.

Agatha’s heart shattered all over again.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered, holding him closer. “I’m so sorry.”

Nicky buried his face in her shoulder, crying hard, the same way he had when she first found him in the hospital hallway. Agatha stroked his back, whispering soft reassurances, rocking him gently as if he were still a baby.

She wanted to tell him it was going to be okay. That Rio was going to wake up, that everything would go back to normal, that he’d be safe and happy again.

But she couldn’t promise him that.

So she just held him. Held him as his little heart broke, as her own ached with the weight of it all, as the sterile hospital walls pressed in around them.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Not yet.

The minutes stretched endlessly, each second heavier than the last. Agatha had stopped looking at the clock—it only made the waiting worse. She had never felt this powerless before, not even the first time this had happened. At least then, she had still been angry. Now, all she had was fear.

⚢

Nicky had finally stopped crying, though he remained curled up in her lap, his little body too exhausted to do anything but sniffle every now and then. 

Agatha continued to stroke his hair, pressing kisses to his temple every so often, whispering to him about nothing in particular — about Pebbles the penguin, about Minecraft, about his rabbit at home, Señor Scratchy, about anything to keep them both from drowning in the silence.

Then the doors finally opened.

Agatha’s breath caught in her throat as two doctors approached them. One of them was the same young man she had snapped at earlier, his expression still carefully measured, but softer now. The other was a surgeon, looking fresh out of the OR.

“Ms. Vidal.” The surgeon said gently, glancing between her and Nicky. “I know it’s been a long night. I wanted to tell you personally that Rio made it through surgery.”

Agatha’s heart stuttered.

“She’s alive?” Nicky whispered, sitting up in her lap. His little fingers clutched at Agatha’s sweater as if afraid to let go.

“She’s alive.” The doctor confirmed. “She’s stable for now, but she’s still unconscious. She suffered extensive internal injuries and a head trauma, so we’ll have to monitor her closely over the next few days.”

Agatha barely heard the rest. The only thing she could focus on was those two words. 

She’s alive.

Something in her chest loosened, and for the first time in hours, she exhaled without it shaking. She closed her eyes briefly, swallowing the knot in her throat.

“Can we see her?” She asked, voice hoarse.

The doctor hesitated. 

“Only for a little while.” He warned. “She’s in the ICU, and she’s still unconscious. But I think it might be good for her to have familiar voices around.”

Agatha nodded quickly, already shifting to stand. Nicky was faster, slipping from her lap and immediately grabbing the doctor’s hand, tugging insistently. 

“Take us to her.” He pleaded. “Please.”

The doctor gave him a small, tired smile and led them down the hall.

Agatha had prepared herself for the worst. Or at least, she thought she had.

But when they stepped into Rio’s hospital room, nothing could have truly braced her for the sight of her.

She was so still. 

That was what Agatha noticed first, above all. 

Rio was never still. She was always moving, always fidgeting, always restless. But here, lying in the hospital bed, she was unmoving, her face pale against the white sheets. The only proof that she was still alive was the slow, mechanical rise and fall of her chest, aided by the tubes hooked up to her.

Her face was a mess of bruises—deep purples and angry reds blooming along her cheekbone and temple. There was a thick bandage wrapped around her head, and wires and IVs tangled around her arms, keeping her tethered to life.

Agatha’s breath hitched.

“Mami!” Nicky exclaimed.

Before Agatha could stop him, he was scrambling up onto the chair beside the bed, reaching out with trembling hands. He wrapped his fingers around Rio’s and rested his small cheek against her palm, his eyes filled with something that made Agatha’s chest ache.

That was their thing together. Nicky loved it when Rio would cradle his cheek in her palm, loved to lean into it and fall asleep like that. He’d been that way since he was barely a one-year-old. Something about the touch… his eyes lit up with relief, even if he didn’t understand it all fully.

“She’s okay.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Mami, you’re okay.”

Agatha pressed a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed.

She wanted to touch Rio, too — to brush the hair from her forehead, to hold her the way she had held Nicky all night. But she didn’t move. She just stood there, feeling her pulse hammer in her throat as relief and something else — something painful, something terrifying — crashed into her all at once.

Because she knew, in that moment, with absolute certainty, that she was still in love with Rio.

Even after everything.

Even after the divorce, after the years of heartbreak, after the anger and the grief and the blame.

She still loved her.

And God, that scared her more than anything else in the world.

⚢

Agatha woke with a start, her neck stiff and her body protesting the awkward position she’d fallen asleep in. It took her a moment to remember where she was, the telltale smell of a hospital and the steady hum of machines dragging her back to reality.

She blinked a few times, taking in the dim light of the ICU room, and found Nicky perched on the chair next to Rio’s bed. His back was to her, but she could see his small hand cradling Rio’s as he whispered something under his breath.

Agatha rubbed her eyes and sat up, her heart aching as she watched him. Nicky was speaking quietly, carefully, his voice soft but determined.

“…and gracias means ‘thank you.’ I got that one from you, Mami.” He murmured, as if Rio could hear him. 

He shifted slightly, still keeping her hand pressed to his cheek. “And por favor means ‘please.’” 

He paused, biting his lip. “I’m learning for you. So I can talk to you the way you talk to me sometimes.”

Agatha felt her throat tighten. She wanted to say something, to comfort him, but she couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. Instead, she leaned back, watching her son pour his little heart out to the mother who couldn’t answer him.

And then the heart monitor started to beep.

The sound was subtle at first—a quick, uneven blip that sent a jolt of unease through Agatha. But then the beeping quickened, growing erratic, before a single, drawn-out tone pierced the room.

The flatline.

Agatha’s body went cold.

“M-Mamí?” Nicky’s voice cracked, his little face twisting in confusion and fear as he turned to look at the monitor. He didn’t understand.

“Baby, come here.” Agatha said urgently, standing and moving toward him.

“No!” Nicky cried, gripping Rio’s hand tighter. “She’s okay! She’s gonna wake up!”

“Nicky, you have to move now.” Agatha said, her voice breaking as she reached for him.

The door burst open, and a team of doctors and nurses rushed in, their voices sharp and focused as they began to surround the bed.

“Get him out of here!” One of them barked, already reaching for the crash cart.

Agatha grabbed Nicky, wrapping her arms around him as he screamed and struggled. He fought her with all the strength his little body could muster, kicking and crying, his voice a desperate wail.

“No! No, let me go! Mami! Mami!”

“Shh, baby, please.” Agatha whispered, her own tears spilling over as she carried him toward the corner of the room. She held him tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder, trying to shield him from the scene unfolding behind them.

She turned just in time to see the doctors beginning CPR, one of them pressing down hard on Rio’s chest in quick, rhythmic motions.

“Clear!”

The defibrillator paddles sent Rio’s body jerking upward, her head lolling to the side before she fell limp again. The monitor remained steady with its dreadful flat tone.

“Again!”

Another shock. Another desperate attempt.

Agatha felt herself shaking, her knees threatening to give out as she clutched Nicky tighter. He was sobbing into her shoulder, his little fists pounding weakly against her back.

“Please.” She whispered under her breath, her voice a broken prayer. “Please, don’t take her.”

“Come on, Rio.” One of the doctors muttered, his voice filled with tension. “Come on.”

They tried again. And again.

But the monitor didn’t change.

Each failed attempt chipped away at Agatha’s hope, her heart breaking a little more with every passing second.

“Momma.” Nicky sobbed, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “Please make her wake up. Please.”

Agatha couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was watch helplessly as the love of her life slipped further and further away.

The flatline rang in Agatha’s ears like a death knell.

One of the doctors stepped back, shoulders tight with defeat, and glanced at the clock. The others around the bed slowed, their frantic movements coming to a reluctant stop.

“Time of death—”

A sharp, stuttering beep cut through the air.

Agatha’s breath caught.

The doctor hesitated, eyes flicking back to the monitor as it let out another weak but unmistakable beep. Then another. And another.

“She’s got a pulse!” One of the nurses shouted.

“BP is still dropping — we need to get her back into surgery now.” Another doctor ordered.

Agatha swayed where she stood, gripping Nicky tighter. Her body felt like it had been wrung out, every nerve strung too tight, but she didn’t care.

Rio was alive .

“W-What’s happening?” Nicky whispered, his little voice thick with exhaustion and tears. He twisted in Agatha’s arms, trying to see past the doctors still swarming around Rio’s bed.

Agatha pressed a trembling kiss to his temple. “She’s still here, baby. They’re going to try and save her.”

The medical team wasted no time. They stabilized Rio as much as they could before unlocking the bed’s brakes and swiftly wheeling her toward the operating room.

Nicky squirmed against Agatha’s hold, trying to chase after them. “I want to go! I want to be there!”

Agatha’s heart clenched. “Baby, we can’t—”

The same nurse from before — the one who had taken Nicky to be checked earlier — was standing near the door. 

Her expression was warm with understanding, but also firm. “Family isn’t allowed in the operating room,” she said gently.

Nicky’s face crumpled. “But-but I have to be there! I have to make sure Mami doesn’t go away!”

The desperation in his voice made Agatha’s already-broken heart fracture even more. She opened her mouth, ready to soothe him, but the nurse spoke first.

“There’s a staff viewing room.” She said thoughtfully. “It’s meant for medical teams to observe procedures, but…” 

She glanced over her shoulder, then back at them. “Give me a second.”

Agatha barely had time to process what was happening before the nurse disappeared down the hall. Nicky turned his wide, tearful eyes up at her, clutching at her sweater.

“We have to go, Momma.” He whispered. “I need to see her.”

Agatha brushed his curls back, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“I know, baby.” She murmured. “I know.”

The nurse returned a moment later, her expression calm but triumphant. 

“My superior said we can make an exception. Come with me.”

Nicky let out a shaky breath, and before Agatha could say anything, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the nurse.

Together, they followed her down the corridor, toward the only place where they could witness Rio’s fight for her life.

The viewing room was small, quiet, and cold. Agatha barely noticed.

She stood frozen in front of the wide glass window, Nicky pressed tightly against her side, both of them watching as the team of surgeons worked tirelessly to save Rio’s life.

It was a brutal, agonizing four hours.

Agatha had seen her fair share of Grey’s Anatomy, Chicago Med, House M.D, all the medical dramas — but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of surgery. 

Of watching skilled hands cut through flesh, of glimpsing glimpses of Rio’s body laid open on the operating table, of seeing blood pooling and suctioned away in real time. It was clinical and precise, but to Agatha, it felt like watching them take her apart piece by piece.

For a long time, Nicky didn’t say a word. He was utterly still, his small hands gripping the railing in front of the glass, his wide eyes glued to the scene below.

Every so often, Agatha would rub his back or press a kiss to his hair, just to remind herself — and him — that they were still here. That Rio was still here.

“She’s fighting.” Agatha whispered at one point, her voice hoarse.

The worst of it was the damage to her lungs. Agatha had nearly stopped breathing herself when one of the doctors murmured something about complications, about how they needed to move quickly before oxygen deprivation became an issue. For a terrifying stretch of time, everything had seemed so fragile, so close to the edge of disaster.

But then — slowly, steadily — things started to turn.

They repaired her stomach, her pancreas, worked carefully around her battered ribs. The surgeons moved with precision and confidence, their voices calm even when things seemed dire.

And then, after what felt like a lifetime, the lead surgeon finally stepped back.

“That’s it.” He announced, pulling his gloves off. “She’s stable. Let’s get her closed up.”

The tension that had been wrapped around Agatha’s chest for hours finally snapped.

She sucked in a breath, swaying slightly, and barely registered the warm hand that landed on her back. She turned and found the kind nurse from before, smiling warmly.

“She’s okay.” The nurse said gently. “They’re taking her back to recovery soon.”

Before Agatha could react, Nicky let out a loud gasp.

“She’s okay?” he blurted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His exhaustion, his fear, the sheer weight of the night — all of it seemed to vanish in an instant. “She’s okay?”

The nurse grinned. “She is.”

Nicky spun around, grabbing Agatha’s hands, his face bursting into the first real smile she had seen in hours. 

“Momma, did you hear that? Mami’s okay!”

Agatha let out a choked laugh, gripping his hands tightly.

“I heard, baby.” She murmured, overwhelmed.

“I knew she wouldn’t go!” Nicky declared, practically vibrating with excitement. He was bouncing in place now, his exhaustion forgotten. “I knew it!”

Agatha felt her chest tighten again, but this time, it wasn’t with fear. It was relief.

And love. So much love.

She watched Nicky as he tugged at her hands, grinning ear to ear, talking a mile a minute about how they had to make a “welcome back” card, how they needed to get her flowers, how he couldn’t wait to tell her all about the surgery she’d just slept through.

She focused on him — on his voice, his energy, the way his dimples appeared when he smiled so hard his face scrunched up.

Because if she didn’t, she knew she’d break down sobbing right then and there.

⚢

The steady beep of the heart monitor had become something of a comfort.

Agatha sat curled in the armchair beside Rio’s bed, watching her chest rise and fall in slow, rhythmic breaths. The panic and terror of the night had ebbed into exhaustion, leaving her quiet and still, but the relief had yet to fade.

Nicky had been talking nonstop for the past few hours, his little voice filling the room as he sat on the edge of Rio’s bed, cradling her hand like a lifeline. His words slipped between English and Spanish, practicing the ones he knew, teaching her even in her unconscious state.

“And rojo means red. Azul is blue. And marrón is brown! I know that one, ‘cause of your eyes.” He giggled, kicking his feet. “Momma says they’re almost black, but they look brown to me. Like Reese’s cups. Or poop.”

Agatha snorted with a laugh, running a hand over her face. 

Nicky had spent the better part of an hour listing off every single animal at the zoo, then detailing every minigame they had played at the arcade, and now he had moved on to colors.

Still, she let him talk. He needed to.

Rio’s fingers remained limp in his grasp, but that didn’t deter him. He just kept chatting, like she would wake up any second and pick up where he left off.

Then, suddenly, he gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Momma! We should get Mami some Cheetos!”

Agatha blinked at the sudden topic change. “What?”

“Crunchy Cheetos!” Nicky said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re her favorite! She said she liked those ones, but not the Hot ones. She said they’re too basic. Maybe if we have them here, she’ll wake up faster.”

Agatha let out a tired chuckle. “I don’t think that’s how it works, baby.”

“Doesn’t matter! I bet she’d want them when she wakes up.” He scrambled down from the bed, holding out his hands expectantly. “Can I go get some from the cafeteria? Please? I’ll be super quick!”

Agatha hesitated, but the sheer determination in his little face was impossible to say no to. Sighing, she dug into her pocket and handed him a few crumpled bills.

“Straight there and back.” She warned.

Nicky nodded enthusiastically, already halfway to the door. “Got it! Love you, Momma!”

Agatha smiled as he disappeared into the hallway, his hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor.

And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, she was alone with Rio.

The quiet settled in immediately. Agatha exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face, then let them drop into her lap.

Slowly, she reached out, hesitating for only a moment before taking Rio’s hand in hers. Her skin was warm but fragile, her fingers limp in Agatha’s grasp.

For a long time, she just looked at her.

She traced every familiar feature — the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone, the dark lashes fanned over her bruised skin. Even covered in bandages and bruises, Rio was still beautiful. Still hers.

Agatha swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“I don’t know if you can hear me.” She murmured, stroking her thumb over Rio’s knuckles. “But I need to say this anyway.”

She exhaled shakily, her grip tightening.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop.

“I-I didn’t mean it.” She admitted, eyes burning with unshed tears again. “The divorce. I never really wanted it. I was just-” 

Agatha let out a breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “I was so scared, Rio. So angry. I thought if I pushed you away, it would hurt less. But it never did. It never stopped hurting.”

The words rushed out like vomit, raw and unfiltered.

“I hated you for that crash.” She whispered. “I hated you because I almost lost him. I hated you because I couldn’t lose him, and I needed someone to blame.”

Her vision blurred as she looked down at their joined hands.

“But it wasn’t your fault.” She choked out through staccato inhales of breath. “It never was. I just… I couldn’t see past my own fear. And I’m so sorry, Rio.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. The first of the night. Boy, did it feel hot against her flushed skin. 

“I forgive you.” Agatha whispered. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

She leaned down, pressing her forehead against Rio’s hand, letting the silence absorb everything she couldn’t say.

“I love you.” She confessed. “I never stopped.”

And for the first time that night, Agatha finally let herself cry.

⚢

Rio woke to warmth.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling above her was too bright, too sterile, the air too crisp with the scent of plastic gloves and shitty food. 

There was an ache deep in her ribs, a sharp tightness in her chest, but none of it mattered — because when she looked down, she saw them.

Nicky, her son, her little boy, was curled up under the hospital blanket, tucked carefully against her side like he belonged there. He was so small, his little fingers wrapped tightly around her own, his breath soft and even in sleep.

And on the other side—

Rio’s heart nearly stopped.

Agatha was there.

She was asleep, her lips parted with slow, steady breaths. Even in her sleep, she was stunning. But what made Rio’s throat tighten was the way she had curled herself so close, pressing Rio’s palm to her cheek as if it was something precious. As if she had missed it.

Rio swallowed hard, staring at her — at them.

It didn’t feel real.

Two years. Two years without Agatha’s touch, without her warmth, without the feeling of their bodies naturally gravitating toward each other in sleep. Two years of seeing her from a distance, of co-parenting through strained conversations, of pretending that what they had built together wasn’t shattered and raw.

And yet, here she was.

Here they were.

For a long, aching moment, Rio just lay there, memorizing the feeling of it all. The weight of Nicky against her side, the press of Agatha’s cheek in her palm, the simple, impossible comfort of touching them again.

It made her want to cry.

Instead, she lifted her free hand with excruciating slowness and brushed her fingers through Agatha’s hair.

The strands were soft, tangled from sleep, and Rio let her touch linger, running her fingertips gently along Agatha’s scalp the way she used to when they would lay in bed after a long day.

Agatha didn’t stir at first, but Nicky did.

A soft, sleepy hum rumbled against her side, and then, suddenly—

“Mami?”

His voice was hoarse with sleep, thick with disbelief, but the moment his bleary eyes blinked open and locked onto hers, everything in his face changed.

“Mami!” He gasped, sitting up so fast it nearly startled her.

Rio barely had time to react before he threw himself at her, burying his face against her hospital gown, his little body trembling.

“You’re awake.” He whispered, clinging to her.

Rio let out a choked laugh, weak but real, wrapping her arms around him as best as she could. 

“Yeah, baby.” She murmured, pressing a shaky kiss to his curls. “I’m awake.”

Nicky let out a wet little hiccup, then a breathless giggle. “I knew you’d wake up. Momma said you would.”

Rio stiffened for a second, heart skipping at the mention of Agatha—but then she felt a shift beside her.

Agatha was stirring.

At first, it was just a soft inhale, a sleepy, unconscious press of her face further into Rio’s palm. But then Nicky let out another giggle — louder this time, full of pure, unfiltered joy — and Agatha’s brow furrowed.

And then, with a slow, fluttering blink, Agatha opened her eyes.

Rio barely had time to prepare herself before those familiar, beautiful brown eyes focused on her.

Their gazes locked.

And suddenly, after two years of distance, of pain, of silence, Agatha was looking at her like she had never left.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Agatha just stared, her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide, her fingers still curled around Rio’s palm like she was afraid to let go.

And Rio—well, Rio was groggy as hell, sore in ways she couldn’t even begin to process, and utterly overwhelmed by the way Agatha was looking at her. Like she was something precious. Like she was something missed.

It was too much. Too intense.

So, naturally, she did what she always did when things got too serious.

Rio made a joke .

Slowly, Rio blinked, furrowing her brow. 

“Who… who are you?” She rasped.

Agatha’s face shattered.

For a split second, panic flashed through her eyes, her grip tightening around Rio’s hand. “What?”

Rio kept her expression blank, blinking at her in confused innocence. “I — do I know you?”

The colour drained from Agatha’s face, her breath catching in her throat. “Rio—”

And then she saw it; the flicker of amusement in Rio’s tired eyes, the way her lips twitched just slightly, the effort it took to suppress a smirk.

Agatha froze.

Her nostrils flared.

And then—

“You absolute piece of shit.” She choked out, letting out a sharp, half-sobbed laugh as she smacked Rio’s shoulder.

Rio wheezed dramatically, wincing. “Ow — injured woman here—”

“You made me think you had amnesia!” Agatha’s voice wobbled wildly between laughter and hysteria, her shoulders trembling as a fresh wave of emotion crashed over her. “You — you asshole!”

Rio grinned, even as exhaustion pulled at her features. 

“Sorry.” She rasped, voice still hoarse. “Didn’t wanna be a cliché and wake up crying.”

Agatha did cry.

Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them, her laugh dissolving into something breathless and messy.

“God, you’re such an idiot.” She whispered, shaking her head, gripping Rio’s hand like she never wanted to let go.

“Yeah,” Rio admitted, watching her with something raw in her gaze.

Nicky, who had been quiet through the exchange, suddenly let out a dramatic huff. 

“Mami, that wasn’t funny.” He scolded, though his smile said otherwise. “Momma almost died just now.”

Agatha let out another watery laugh, running a hand over her face. “I really did.”

Rio gave a weak shrug, squeezing Agatha’s fingers. 

“Hey.” She murmured, eyes soft, the humour fading just slightly into something real. “I’m still here.”

Agatha swallowed hard, her chest aching.

“Yeah.” She whispered. “You are.”

Rio let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself as she shifted against the hospital bed. Everything hurt, but she forced herself to sit up as best as she could.

“What… happened?” She rasped, glancing between Agatha and Nicky.

Nicky was the one to answer.

With all the seriousness his little face could muster, he straightened up, still nestled close to her side. 

“We were driving back from Momma’s house,” he began carefully, his voice soft but certain.

“I was playing Pokémon on your phone, and then…” His face twisted, his small fingers tightening in her hospital gown. “The car — it flipped over, Mami. You got really hurt. And you wouldn’t wake up.”

Rio swallowed hard, throat going dry.

Flipped over.

Her breath hitched, the room tilting slightly around her.

“I tried to wake you up.” Nicky continued, his voice breaking. “But you just wouldn’t.”

Rio squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the burn of something sharp behind them. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him as best as she could, pulling him in, cradling his tiny body against hers.

Nicky immediately melted into her hold, burying his face in her chest.

And Rio — Rio broke.

Tears slipped past her lashes, her chest tightening with a crushing weight.

She could’ve killed him.

She could’ve almost killed her son. Again.

A tremor wracked through her, her grip on Nicky tightening instinctively, like if she held him close enough, she could undo the past.

“I—I’m so sorry.” She whispered, her voice barely there, her body trembling. “ Mi amor , I’m so sorry.”

She felt a shift beside her, and then, suddenly — Agatha was there.

Before Rio could spiral further, warm hands cupped her face, gentle but firm, forcing her to look up.

Rio gasped softly as Agatha’s brown eyes locked onto hers, pulling her into something steady. Something real.

The warmth of Agatha’s palms against her cheeks sent a shiver down her spine, but it was the look in her eyes that truly froze her in place.

“Rio.” Agatha murmured, her thumb stroking along the sharp edge of her cheekbone. “It’s not your fault.”

Rio’s breath stuttered.

Agatha shook her head, her grip steady, her gaze fierce and unrelenting. “It was never your fault.”

Rio felt something deep inside her crack.

A choked noise caught in her throat, her lips parting as if to argue — but Agatha didn’t let her.

“I mean it.” She whispered, her thumbs brushing away the fresh tears slipping down Rio’s face. “It wasn’t your fault then, and it’s not your fault now.”

Rio couldn’t breathe.

She could only stare, drowning in the certainty of Agatha’s gaze, in the warmth of her touch, in the way she was holding her.

A knock at the door startled them.

Agatha reluctantly pulled her hands away from Rio’s face, but not before one last gentle stroke of her thumb over Rio’s cheek. Rio sucked in a shaky breath, grounding herself in the warmth still lingering on her skin.

A doctor stepped inside, flipping through a chart. He was a middle-aged guy, his expression neutral but kind. 

“Ms. Vidal.” He greeted, glancing at her monitors. “It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

Rio swallowed. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

The doctor hummed in sympathy. “Not quite, but close. You sustained significant internal injuries from the crash. Your lungs were bruised, your stomach took some damage, and your pancreas was partially torn.”

Rio tensed. Agatha did too.

“But.” The doctor continued, glancing up at her. “We were able to repair everything in surgery. Your organs are stable, and as long as you follow recovery guidelines, you should heal well. You’ll have a pretty sizable scar on your stomach, but otherwise, you’ll be okay.”

Rio let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She’d be okay.

But the doctor wasn’t done.

“There is one long-term complication.” He admitted, voice careful. “Because of the damage to your pancreas, you’ve developed type 3c diabetes. Your pancreas can no longer produce insulin properly, which means you’ll need to monitor your blood sugar and likely take insulin for the rest of your life.”

Silence filled the room.

Rio’s heart sank. Diabetes ? It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but—

“Mami.” Nicky suddenly gasped, sitting up beside her, his face lit up with excitement.

Rio blinked down at him, startled. “What?”

Nicky grinned, lifting his shirt to reveal the jagged, albeit faded scar on his stomach — the one from his crash two years ago.

“Look!” He exclaimed, pointing at it. “You got a scar too! Now we match!”

Rio stared at him.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at her son, at the pure, unfiltered joy on his face.

And then — despite everything, despite the pain and exhaustion and the heavy reality of what the doctor had just told her — Rio laughed.

It was weak, breathless, but real.

Agatha let out a watery chuckle beside her, rubbing her face. 

“Nicky, oh my God.” She murmured, shaking her head.

But Nicky just beamed, resting his little hands against Rio’s stomach. “Now we’re scar buddies!”

Rio exhaled, reaching up to ruffle his long hair. 

“Yeah, baby.” She murmured, smiling despite the tears in her eyes. “We are.”

⚢

The week passed in a blur of slow recovery and quiet moments.

Agatha and Nicky never left.

The hospital staff had set up a cot in the corner of Rio’s room, but more often than not, Agatha ended up asleep in the armchair beside her bed, and Nicky fell asleep curled up against Rio’s side. He spent his days keeping her entertained, chattering away in clumsy but earnest Spanish, showing off his Minecraft worlds, and making a complete mess of the awful hospital food.

Rio didn’t mind. She basked in the warmth of it, in their presence, in the way things felt. Like a glimpse into the life she’d lost. Like something healing.

And then — just like that — she was almost ready to go home.

The day before her discharge, Nicky bounced excitedly in place, rattling off a determined plan to buy Rio a bag of actual food from the cafeteria before she left.

When Agatha handed him some money, he took off like a rocket.

And just like that, they were alone.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Agatha sat beside her in the chair, her head resting against the mattress. Rio watched her out of the corner of her eye, unsure of what to say.

There had been so many almosts this past week. The way Agatha reached for her without thinking. The way she smoothed Rio’s hair back when she thought she was asleep. The way she looked at her — like she didn’t know whether to cry or close the distance.

Rio had kept quiet, afraid to shatter whatever fragile thing was forming between them.

But this time, it wasn’t an almost.

Agatha moved.

She reached out, her fingers sliding over Rio’s jaw, tilting her face toward her.

Rio barely had a second to react before Agatha leaned in and kissed her.

Soft. Warm. Familiar in a way that stole the breath right out from her lungs.

Rio froze for half a second, shock jolting through her — then she melted.

Her hand found Agatha’s wrist, gripping her like a teenager desperately clinging to their first girlfriend. Fitting, really.

Two years.

It had been two years since Agatha had touched her like this. Since her lips had pressed against hers, and Rio was pointedly delighted to find out Agatha’s mouth still tasted of the cherry lip balm Rio bought her from a Christmas market when Nicky was a toddler. He’d been sitting in her front-facing baby carrier, babbling his little heart out, when she’d seen it and thought of Agatha.

When Agatha finally pulled back, her breath trembled, and Rio’s chest ached.

Agatha opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

She didn’t need to.

Rio’s fingers curled around her wrist, holding her in place.

Slowly, she leaned forward — just enough to rest her forehead against Agatha’s.

No words.

Just the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth of skin against skin.

After everything, after two years of distance and anger and heartbreak—

Rio closed her eyes and let herself hold on.

For a long time, they just breathed.

Foreheads pressed together, hands still lingering on each other’s skin, neither willing to pull away.

But the silence couldn’t last forever.

Rio was the first to break it, her voice barely above a whisper. “Agatha…”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head slightly. 

“Don’t.” She murmured.

But Rio couldn’t not say something. Not after this. Not after the past week.

“Two years ago, when I crashed the car… when Nicky got hurt…” She swallowed, throat thick. “I don’t blame you for leaving me.”

Agatha inhaled sharply.

“I blamed myself enough for both of us.” Rio continued. “I hated myself. I-I still do, sometimes. Because what kind of mother almost—”

Her breath hitched, her grip on Agatha’s wrist tightening. “I thought I deserved to lose you. I thought—”

“I never wanted to leave you.” Agatha’s voice was raw, thick with emotion. “God, Rio, you think I wanted that ? You think I wanted to be alone in that big, empty house, missing you every single day?”

Rio blinked, startled.

Agatha let out a ragged breath, pulling back slightly so Rio could see the tears filling her eyes.

“I was so angry, Rio.” She admitted, her voice breaking. “Not just at you — at myself. I was terrified. Terrified of almost losing Nicky. Terrified that if we stayed together, if I forgave you, it would happen again. I thought… I thought maybe if I cut you out, if I kept my distance, I could protect him. Protect myself.”

Rio’s chest ached.

“But it didn’t work.” Agatha whispered, shaking her head. “Because I still loved you. I never stopped loving you.”

Rio’s breath caught.

Agatha let out a choked, tearful laugh, pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes. 

“And then this crash happened, and I-I thought you were really going to die. I thought—” She sobbed, her voice cracking in a way that was so unlike Agatha and her hardened demeanour. “I thought… Rio , I thought I was going to lose you forever .”

Rio didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. She simply moved.

With what little strength she had, she pulled Agatha closer, her arms wrapping around her tightly, fiercely, desperately.

Agatha went willingly, curling into Rio’s body like she belonged there.

Like she had never left.

Rio pressed her lips to the top of Agatha’s head, inhaling the scent of her hair, her skin, the warmth of her.

“You didn’t lose me.” She murmured against her hair, inhaling in a moment of indulgence. Fuck, Rio had missed her so much.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

Agatha sobbed into her shoulder, her hands fisting into the hospital gown, clutching Rio like she was afraid to let go.

Rio let her.

She held her, stroking her back, whispering soft reassurances, feeling everything — the weight of two years apart, the pain, the love, the fear, the relief.

And eventually, exhaustion took over. Agatha finally slept well after eight days of restless, dreamless sleep.

Agatha sagged against her, her breathing slowing, her fingers still curled into Rio’s shirt.

Rio smiled faintly, pressing one last kiss to her hair before letting her eyes drift shut.

When Nicky came back, a bag of snacks clutched in his tiny hands, he paused in the doorway.

He found both of his mommies asleep.

Curled up together, wrapped around each other, peaceful in a way he hadn’t seen in years.

Smiling softly, Nicky set the bag down on the table, climbed onto the cot, and pulled out his tablet.

He didn’t want to wake them.

So, quietly, he opened Minecraft and began building.