Ever After (Heart of Stone #3.5)(23)
Author: K.M. Scott

His eyes followed mine to my leg and then everything began to move so fast. I heard him say something like everything was going to be okay, but my mind was filled with fear. I had no idea what was wrong, but I knew blood wasn’t a good sign. He guided me to my coat, all the while working to keep me calm as he called Dr. Michaelson, and I just nodded over and over, unable to speak. I wanted to believe it was okay—that the babies were fine and we’d be okay—but I had a bad feeling.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, my heart raced in fear that I’d done something wrong to make this happen. Turning to Tristan as we walked through the emergency room doors, I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly as I spoke the first words since telling him something was wrong. “I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Pressing his lips to my cheek, he kissed me. “You’re going to be fine, Nina. I won’t leave your side. I promise. We’re going to get through this fine, and in a little while you and I are going to meet our children.”

Dozens of people hurriedly moved around me in the operating room, barking out words that all blended into one big stream of noise, but throughout it all Tristan stood next to me holding my hand and smoothing my damp hair off my face. No matter how frantic everyone else looked, he remained calm, his expression full of love, as he whispered over and over, “Don’t be scared. I’m here.”

I wasn’t scared. I’d prepared myself for the real possibility that I’d have to go through an emergency C-section. Twins rarely were born naturally, so this was nothing to be frightened of. Even if I was, Tristan smiling down at me and squeezing my hand would chase all my fears away.

The tiny sound of a baby’s cry broke through the cacophony of voices around me, and I looked down to see our child in the doctor’s hands. Was it a boy or a girl? I looked up at Tristan, my eyes pleading for the answer.

“Say hello to your daughter, and her sister is coming right behind her,” Dr. Michaelson said in a voice full of joy.

Tristan bent down and in my ear whispered, “Two girls, Nina. Diana and Tressa.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly the room felt like it was spinning out of control. My eyes couldn’t focus, and then I heard a voice say something about blood or bleeding out and heard machines begin to buzz and chime frantically, and I felt Tristan let go of my hand. Everything spun around me, but I saw his face twist in terror as he was led away. Why was he leaving me there with all those strangers when I needed him most?

And then everything went dark.

I opened my eyes and saw I stood in a yard of green grass lined by flower beds filled with yellow and white daisies. The sun was shining like it was a gorgeous summer day. I looked around confused. I knew this place, but from where? I walked toward the middle of the yard, unsure of what I’d find but somehow knowing there’d be something familiar there. I stopped as my foot landed on a stepping stone. Crouching down in the cool grass, I saw in the center of the grey stone a yellow and orange painted sun, the kind a child would make.

I’d made that picture. The memory of that week at summer camp the year my mother died came rushing back to me. The hours I spent in the art building while the other children played tag and kickball. The happiness that week had given me after months of living in my house as my father and sister mourned my mother’s death, me being too young to understand what had happened but feeling the pall that hung over every room and every moment of our lives.

I ran my fingertip over the sun, feeling the warmth of the rock as I traced the ridges worn into it by weather over the years. Closing my eyes, I remembered the look on my father’s face as I showed him my stepping stone I’d made for my mother, not understanding the sadness in his eyes as he pretended to love my creation. Tears began to stream down my cheeks as the realization of what this rock meant dawned on me.

Just like my mother and father, I’d died.

“Don’t cry, Nina.”

I knew that voice. Soft, feminine, it filled my heart with warmth and happiness. Opening my eyes, I saw her for the first time in nearly twenty years. My mother, gone since I was just a little girl, stood there in front of me as she had so many times when I played in our backyard. Beautiful, with long brown hair and blue eyes just like mine, she smiled at me.

“Mom? Is that you?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“How? What is this?”

“I’ve missed you, Nina. I’ve missed you every day since I had to leave that morning.”

Tears filled my eyes again. Why was this happening? “What is this, mom? Why am I here? Am I dead?”

She reached out to touch me, caressing my cheek with her palm. I felt it as sure as I felt my own hand cover hers, so I knew she wasn’t a dream. Whatever this was, it was real.

“So many questions. Always so many questions with my Nina. Give me a few minutes and all your questions will be answered.”

Holding out her hand, she nodded, and I had the surest sense I needed to follow her. I placed my hand in hers, and she led me down the stone path toward the end of our yard. There was no fear, no dread. Just love like I’d only felt with one other.

Tristan. Oh, God! Where was he? Turning to face my mother, I pleaded with her for answers. “Is Tristan here? Where are the girls? I can’t leave them there. I need to get to them. Can you help me?”

She shook her head, and a tiny frown turned down her lips. “He’s not here, Nina.”

Tears filled my eyes, making my vision blurry. As they rolled down over my cheeks, I sobbed, “I have two little girls who need me. Why am I here? Mom, tell me how to get back to them.”

“Your daughters are beautiful. Your children are all beautiful, Nina. Tristan is taking care of them now. Not to worry.”

“I want to go back. Please tell me how to get back to them.”

My mother cupped my cheeks in her hands. “We all get only a small amount of time with those we love, honey. Sometimes it’s less than we planned, but hopefully, we’ve been there long enough to have them remember us.”

My heart ached at the sound of her words. “How will my girls remember me, Mom? They never even got to meet me. I was taken from them right after they were born.”

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”

I turned my head, searching for a way out of this place. For as far as my eyes could see, there was just grass and my childhood backyard. “How can I get back to them? I need to be back with them!”