Page 80 of Embrace

Kiyomi smiles as much as she can considering the situation. But then when the nurse calls her inside, she pivots back to her brother.

“You’re sure you want to stay? I’ll give you the keys, and you can rest at the house. It’s not easy, and I don’t want you to have these memories of her.”

Kian shakes his head. “I’m sure.”

She sighs. “I’ll make sure the nurses tell us when you can go inside again. Thanks for coming, and you, too, Scarlett.”

When she disappears down the hall, Kian taps his elbow lightly against mine. “Great tutor, huh?”

“Someone’s gotta make sure you’re on track.” There’s a sudden distance between us, something that makes me second-guess this. “I can check in on you later if you want. I know this is a family thing. I can leave.”

He shakes his head, pulling me into his arms again. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m so sick of people leaving.”

Twenty-seven

Kian

I hate hospitals.

Does anyone like them? Hospitals mean disappointment, despair…death.

The first thing I notice are the lavender gloves the nurses wear. I used to think they were meant to calm people. That’s what the nurse told me when I went to see my dad. But back then, all that color did was make me aware of every sound, every antiseptic smell, every reason I was there. I hated it. And I don’t hate anything.

A nurse taps my shoulder, that same shade flashes in my vision, and it’s like I’m back there again—palms slick, chest tight, breath catching somewhere between my ribs. I start to stand, desperate to shake it off, but then Scarlett shifts, her head sliding against my shoulder. Her weight tethers me.

We’ve been here for hours. Every time I ask for an update, the answer is the same: no news. By midnight, we dozed off, Scarlett curled against me. I can’t believe she’s here. I’m almost certain she had class last night and another this afternoon. She could leave, catch up tomorrow—but she doesn’t. Her presence presses against me. She’s staying, and somehow, I know it’s nonnegotiable.

“Your mom’s asking for you. She’s calm now, so I think it’s a good time to talk. Just for a few minutes,” the nurse says.

“Is everything okay?” I whisper, careful not to stir Scarlett.

My mom’s moods are unpredictable. I never know what will set her off. It’s odd, someone telling you when you can see your own mother.

Scarlett stirs, and her big brown eyes find mine.

Her hand drifts over my chest, gentle, almost like she’s guiding my own breath.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmur.

“Are you going to see her?”

The nurse waves me to come in. “Your guest can head in with you if you’d like. Your mom reacts pretty well to new faces.” Right. It’s just the old ones she hates. Mine.

But it feels like she’s thrown me a lifeline. “You want to come?” I ask Scarlett.

Scarlett’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d hate to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t.” I sound desperate. “But you can stay here if you’re not comfortable.”

Scarlett stands, holding her hand out for me. My heart is pounding in my ears when we push past the door. It’s quiet inside, the TV playing The Weather Channel on mute, and the curtains are closed, blocking out the midnight sky.

That’s when I see her, resting on her bed in a hospital gown. She’s got a hospital wristband on, and socks that go up to her knees. Her hair is messy, probably from sleep. There’s a ball of yarn on the side table, knitting needles stuck inside it.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, my hands getting clammier by the second. Her head tilts, eyeing me curiously, and when I see a flicker of confusion, I almost panic.

“Kian-chan,” she whispers, and my body topples in relief. “Where have you been?”

The words feel like she’s asking about the past four years, but thinking about that feels a lot heavier. “In the waiting room.”