Worst Fear 12

 

Chapter 12 

Lydia 

The first thing I noticed was the light. 

Bright, too bright. It burned my eyes, forcing them shut again. My head felt heavy, and my body felt weak like I had been floating between life and death for days. My throat was dry, and my chest ached with every breath. 

The more I tried to move, the more the ache in my head worsened, so I rested back a while longer. After a while, I tried to move my fingers. They felt stiff and weren’t moving at my command anymore. 

Then, I heard it. A chair scraped against the floor-a deep sigh and then someone shifting beside me. Slowly, I forced my eyes open again, blinking against the harsh bright light. 

Gloria. 

She was sitting by my bedside; her face was pale, and her hands clenched in her lap. Her usually perfect hair was slightly out of place now and for once, she didn’t look… Tired. She looked worried. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. My throat was too dry. She noticed immediately. “Water?” she asked, already reaching for a glass. I gave a small nod as I watched her bring the glass to me. 

She helped me sit up a little, pressing the glass to my lips. The water was cool, soothing the burning dryness in my throat. I don’t think I ever thirsted for water that much in my life before. 

I swallowed every last bit of water in the cup, and I was finally able to speak again. “Where…? “I asked. 

“Not in prison,” she said quickly, setting the glass down. “You were unconscious for a long while.” 

I blinked, trying to remember what happened before I passed out. I remembered Mary fighting with an inmate, and then I was the only one in the room when… The fire broke out. I had woken up to it, and the smoke had me choking. I remembered banging on the metal bars, screaming for help until my voice was gone. Then… nothing. 

My hand moved instinctively to my stomach as I recalled worrying about the smoke affecting them. My stomach felt… Empty. 

I froze. 

A sharp, suffocating fear wrapped around my chest as I pressed my palm harder, my breath catching as I searched for signs of my babies’s presence, but there was none. 

‘Where-?” Gloria’s lips parted like she wanted to say something, but she hesitated. Her eyes darted towards several corners of the room, her fingers tightening around each other. 

I forced my voice out. “Where are my babies?” Gloria exhaled slowly like she had been holding her breath. “The babies were delivered early.” 

“The twins. They’re alive,” she added quickly. “But… they were premature. They’re in incubators.” 

I stared at her, my body frozen. My babies were out in the world, fragile, vulnerable, without me. 

Who knows how long I’d been out, and who knows how much they struggled to survive? I tried to sit up, but then a sharp pain shot through my abdomen, causing me to let out a shaky, pained breath as I gripped my side. 

Gloria reached out immediately. “You need to rest-” 

1/4 

“I want to see them,” I whispered. My voice was weak, but I made sure my seriousness was evident in my tone. 

“You can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Not yet. You’re still healing.” 

Healing. 

I was always healing from something. Always broken, always piecing myself back together. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. “How… how small are they?” 

Gloria’s lips pressed together. “Very small.” My chest tightened. I felt a tear slip down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away. 

I wanted to ask more, but I didn’t have the energy. My body felt drained, like every ounce of strength had been taken from 

For the first time since waking up, I noticed Gloria wasn’t speaking much. Usually, she was quick to explain things to make me understand the situation. 

But not this time. She was just watching me, her face unreadable. It felt strange like she was intentionally avoiding speaking much because… She’s hiding something. 

I decided to ask. “How did the fire start?” I found myself asking suddenly. Her jaw tightened. “Get some rest, Lydia.” 

I clenched my fists. “Tell me, Gloria, do you know how it started?.” She hesitated again. “Not now. Not when you’re this weak.” 

Weak. 

That word again. 

I hated it. 

I tried to sit up but moved a bit too forcefully that my body immediately protested and pulled me down. I let my head fall back against the pillow. My body was trembling, but I ignored it. Gloria sat quietly beside me again, watching intently without offering any explanations. 

Just silence. 

I closed my eyes. I didn’t know what was worse-the pain in my body or the pain in my heart as I worried about my… Babies. 

Two weeks. 

It took two weeks for my body to regain enough strength to stand without feeling like I would collapse. Two weeks of slow, painful movements, of struggling to eat, of waking up in the middle of the night in a panic because of the nightmares of my body still trapped in the smoke-filled prison even though I was no longer there. 

And two weeks of waiting. 

Waiting to see my babies. 

The first time I was strong enough to ask about them, Gloria insisted I focus on me first. She had been at my side every day, making sure I had the best care, making sure I was eating and healing. But when I asked about my babies, she’d hesitate every time. 

“They’re in the NICU,” she finally said. “Still small and still fighting.” I clutched the blanket over me. “I want to see them.” 

2/4 

Lydia, you’re still-” 

“I want to see them.” 

Gloria sighed but didn’t argue. A few hours later, a nurse helped me into a wheelchair, and they took me to the NICU. The moment I saw them, my heart broke. 

Tiny. So tiny. Their little bodies were curled up inside incubators, tubes attached to them, machines beeping softly. I covered my mouth, trying to hold back the sob that rose in my throat. 

They looked so fragile. Like the slightest touch could break them. This was all my fault; had I been more self-aware, I’d have noticed when the fire started and brought myself to safety. Tears streamed down my face as my body shook. 

Gloria’s hand rested on my shoulder. “They’re going to be okay, Lydia,” she said softly. I shook my head, unable to speak. I should have been the one protecting them. But I couldn’t keep them safe and jeopardized their health. I failed them. And if they… 

I felt helpless. 

I reached out, pressing my hand against the glass of the incubator. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

Gloria didn’t say anything. She just stayed beside me. 

After what felt like hours, she helped me back to my room. She didn’t rush me. She didn’t try to comfort me with empty words. She just let me feel. 

Days passed before I was discharged. 

At first, I refused to leave. My babies were here; how could I leave them here when I could be close to them and make sure they were okay? 

But Gloria insisted. 

“You can’t stay here,” she told me. “I’ll bring you back every day to see them. But you need to rest, too.” I didn’t want to, but in the end, I had no choice. My body was still weak, and Gloria wasn’t letting me stay another night. 

As we stepped out of the hospital, I wondered how Gloria would be able to bring me here from prison. But as we approached a black Audi car and I watched Gloria enter the back passenger seat, my brows creased. Was this… Gloria’s car? 

“Come on in.” She said with a soft smile. That’s when I finally took notice of how elegant her dresses had been these past few days. An absolute contrast to what I’d known her to wear back in prison. “Where are we going?” I asked first. 

“My house.” 

I had endless questions but went mute about them and entered the other side of the luxurious car. 

After about 10 minutes into the drive, I decided to ask to break off the silent tension. “How did the fire start at the prison?” 

She turned hesitantly and looked away. I gave up, figuring she still wouldn’t fess up, but then she called. “Lydia,” she said, sitting across from me. “I believe you’re ready for this now.” 

I looked up. She brought out a pen. A sleek, black pen that looked a bit too familiar 

I frowned, reaching for it. The color, the design-it was expensive. It is made, and I’ve only known one person who owned it. 

I turned it slowly in my fingers, and then I saw it-the initials. 

3/4 

M.W 

My brows creased further. This was Mason’s pen. Why did Gloria have it? “This was found outside the prison,” Gloria said, “near your cell.” 

I stared at her. “Mason?” She nodded. 

I gripped the pen tightly. “What are you trying to say? Mason started the fire?” 

“No,” Gloria said. “I looked into it.” I frowned. “Then-” 

“He sent someone to start the fire.” She said. I stared at her for a while and began moving my head from side to side. “No, you don’t know Mason. He’s not a murderer, and he sure wouldn’t kill me.” 

“The one who was sent to kill you was Mary; the fight earlier was planned. She was questioned by my men, and she confessed to having been paid by Mason. He found out about your pregnancy and… Didn’t want you to ask for alimony.” 

Mason tried to kill me. And my babies. 

Our babies.