Page 15 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
Then she switched the screen to dark.
The rage that had carried her through the day had burned itself out, leaving behind only pain and an exhaustion so deep, it felt like even moving, lifting her hand for a glass of water, would be too much. Her eyes stung like there were grains of sand in them, but no tears came.
They were both in their twenties, Connor and her. They had been together for seven years.
She remembered meeting him for the first time after she had crashed her dad’s car when she was nineteen. She hadn’t been able to look away once her turned his eagle eyes on her. He was all restless energy and bright plans. She'd fallen in love with the way he fixed things with his hands. He'd been an apprentice then, with grease under his nails and hope in his smile. Later, he'd partnered in his own chain of custom garages, proud of every shop that opened, proud that he could provide. And she had supported him every step of the way.
"I want to give you everything," he had said when he slid the ring with the tiny cluster of diamonds on her finger. He had dragged Diego through five shops before he found the right one at a price he could afford. She had never taken it off since.
She had built something, too.
Rumour22designs had started in their spare bedroom with Fern, Diego, and Chiara, their laughter echoing late into the night as they built mock-ups for indie authors, a thousand covers that smelled like coffee and Chinese takeout. They had rented a proper studio a little more than four years ago, just as she had to start packing to leave her life behind. She had been a partner once, then a part-timer when Coral arrived—still holding her shares, but stepping back from the frantic pace. She'd told herself it was just a pause, and that she would return when things were steadier at home.
She smiled faintly at the memory of Chiara's last hug and whisper in her ear, "Take care of yourself first, Fern. Remember to put your own oxygen mask on before helping anyone else."
Chiara had been right.
She had thought this love would last forever. She had thought it would be alright to leave her family and friends behind and come to this place full of secrets because she had Connor.
She had put up with her mother-in-law from hell, and the ex who was the invisible shadow in bed with the two of them.
She had kept her temper under control and squeezed herself into a tiny little box, giving away pieces of herself so she had her husband and her child, and for what?
The room was dim, with only the monitor's glow painting soft light over Coral's face. Her little girl slept deeply, one bandaged arm resting across the blanket, the other curled near her mouth. She was sucking her thumb again.
Fern leaned forward and brushed a stray curl from her forehead. "You're brave," she whispered. "So brave."
She sat there long after the whisper faded, listening to the rhythmic blip of the monitor and the quiet shuffle of the night nurse down the hall.
She knew tomorrow would bring questions, paperwork, and the reality of separation. But for the first time in days, her mind felt still. Everything that mattered was right here—her child, a promise, and the faint hope of a beginning after the ruin.
Fern reached for the blanket and tucked it a little higher around Coral's shoulders, just needing to do something.
One step at a time. Tomorrow can wait.
***
Fern woke to the soft scrape of crayons.
For one disorienting second, she forgot where she was until the antiseptic tang in the air and the stiff hospital recliner digging into her ribs reminded her. She turned her head and saw Coral.
Her daughter sat cross-legged on the bed; the blanket bunched under her knees. Her right hand and forearm were swaddled in thick white bandages, propped carefully on a small pillow so the dressing wouldn't shift. But her left hand—her determined little left hand—moved steadily across the paper one of the nurses had got her.
Her curls were tied back in a ballerina knot high on her head, a tiny lopsided bun that made her look both fierce and fragile. She had her head tilted to the right as she concentrated, lips parted in a soft pout of focus.
Her little munchkin.
Fern swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, and whispered, "Good morning, sweetheart."
Coral looked up immediately, her big amber eyes bright in the morning light before going back to her drawing.
Fern pushed herself upright, wincing as her back protested. "What are you drawing, sweetheart?"
Coral didn't answer. She simply lifted the paper with her unbandaged left hand.
This time, the page held four uneven stick figures. A small one with curly hair. A taller one with longer, scribbly hair. A towering one with a blocky shape on his head—probably Grandpa Harlan in his fisherman's cap. And another tall one with messy spiked hair, clearly Connor.
All four held hands under a crooked sun, and above them hovered a large, misshapen heart, coloured in so hard the paper was punctured.
