2. shadows in the room

The beeping of the heart monitor was the first thing Marisol heard as she stirred awake, its rhythm steady but intrusive in the sterile quiet of the hospital room. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing harsh fluorescent lights above and white walls that seemed to stretch endlessly around her. A dull ache throbbed in her left arm, wrapped tightly in a plaster cast. Confused, she scanned the room, her pulse quickening.

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. She turned sharply, but there was nothing there—just the shadow of a coat rack against the wall. Marisol's breath hitched. She looked back to the other side, catching another faint movement. This time, it lingered—a dark, humanoid shape, just out of focus, crouching near the edge of her bed.

"Who's there?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure didn't answer. It seemed to sulk, its head tilting slightly as if observing her. She turned fully toward it, but when her gaze met the spot directly, it vanished, dissolving into the sterile light. Frustrated, she clutched Eri tightly to her chest, her small fingers trembling.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, her voice cracking with desperation.

The heart monitor spiked, its sharp beeping echoing through the room. The shadows that lingered at the edges of her vision recoiled, shrinking behind the furniture before fading entirely. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as she stared at the empty room, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Marisol exhaled shakily, the room falling silent once more. She stared at the shadows, daring them to move again. But they stayed still, as if mocking her fear.

The door swung open, and two nurses rushed in, their faces etched with concern.

"Miss, are you okay?" one asked, her voice calm but firm. "Your vitals spiked on the monitor."

Marisol froze, clamming up as the nurses checked her over. She shook her head mutely, gripping Eri even tighter. Her lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to speak. The memory of her father's bloodied hand reaching for her flashed in her mind, and tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Moments later, the doctor entered—a tall man with a kind but tired expression. He carried a clipboard, glancing at the monitor before addressing her.

"Good morning, Marisol," he said gently, pulling up a chair beside her bed. "You gave us a bit of a scare there. How are you feeling?"

Marisol's throat tightened. She looked away, burying her face in Eri's soft fur. The doctor waited patiently, but when no response came, he sighed and made a few notes on his clipboard.

"Well, the good news is you're healing well. Just a fractured arm and some bruises—nothing too serious. You're cleared to be discharged today."

Marisol didn't react, her fingers tracing the worn seams of her stuffed bunny. The doctor stood, offering a small smile.

"I'll let your mother know. She's been waiting for you."

The mention of her mother sent a sense of relief through Marisol. She remained silent as the nurses helped her into her clothes—a plain hospital gown replaced with a simple t-shirt and jeans. The weight of her cast felt like a burden she didn't deserve to carry.

A knock on the door broke the stillness. Sofia stepped in, her own injuries still evident in the bruises on her face and the bandage wrapped around her arm. Despite her appearance, she looked put-together, her hair neatly brushed and makeup carefully applied. She offered Marisol a stiff smile.

"Ready to go, Marisol?" Sofia asked, her tone forced.

Marisol nodded faintly, clutching Eri as she slid off the bed. Sofia barely glanced at her as she turned to Officer Garrison, who stood waiting in the hallway. The officer was a broad-shouldered man with a friendly demeanor, his badge gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

"Thanks for the ride, Garrison," Sofia said, her voice softening as she placed a hand on his arm. "I don't know what we would've done without you."

"It's no problem at all," Garrison replied with a warm smile. "I've got two kids of my own. I get it."

Marisol followed them silently, her mother's attention focused entirely on the officer. As they walked through the hospital corridors, Sofia laughed at his jokes, her tone light and flirty. Marisol's heart sank further with each step.

Outside, the car ride to the hotel was quiet save for the occasional chuckle from the front seat. Marisol stared out the window, her fingers gripping Eri tightly. The desert landscape blurred past, the sun casting long shadows across the sand. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass—pale, tired, and distant.

When they arrived at the hotel, Garrison opened the door for Sofia, who offered him an exaggerated smile. "Thanks again. You've been so helpful."

"Anytime," Garrison replied. He glanced back at Marisol, offering her a kind smile. "Hang in there, kiddo."

Marisol didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the ground. Sofia ushered her inside, barely acknowledging her daughter's silence as she thanked Garrison one last time. The door closed behind them, sealing Marisol in the small, suffocating space of the hotel room.

Sofia set her purse down heading for the shower, sighing heavily. "Marisol, can you keep it down if you're going to play with that bunny? I need a moment to relax and think."

Marisol's jaw tightened. She sat on the edge of the bed, clutching Eri as she stared at the shadows pooling in the corners of the room. They shifted slightly, just out of reach, as if mocking her. She closed her eyes, the weight of her grief and frustration threatening to consume her.

Marisol clung to Eri, her fingers trembling as the shadows seemed to loom closer, their presence both familiar and alien. She didn't know what was worse—the monsters she could see or the ones she couldn't.

In the bathroom, Sofia leaned against the cool tile, her chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. The day had been exhausting, but not in the way that left her drained—no, it was the kind of tension that simmered beneath the surface, ignited by fleeting glances and charming smiles.

Her mind lingered on Garrison's easy laugh and the way his hand had brushed hers when he'd opened the car door. A soft, satisfied hum escaped her lips as her head tilted back, the hot water cascading over her skin. For the first time all day, she felt truly at ease, her thoughts fixated on herself.

"Marisol better stay quiet," she muttered to herself, her voice low and breathy. The weight of her responsibilities—her fractured family, her injured daughter—was pushed to the back of her mind, replaced by a fleeting desire for control, for release.

She let the water run longer than necessary, the steam filling the small bathroom and fogging the mirror. Sofia's focus was singular, her actions deliberate, as if this moment of indulgence were an escape from the chaos of her life. She deserved this, she told herself, deserved a few minutes to herself without Marisol's quiet sadness pulling at her.

Sophia leaned away the shower wall, her phone balanced precariously on the ledge of the sink. Her wet fingers tapped out a quick message, her lips curling into a smile as Garrison's response popped up on the screen.

"Dinner tomorrow? My treat. You deserve to relax."

Her heart fluttered, a rare moment of warmth cutting through the stress of the day. She quickly typed back.

"Sounds perfect. Pick me up at 7?"

She turned off the water, wrapping herself in a plush towel as she checked her phone again. Garrison had sent another text, a lighthearted joke about their chaotic morning. Sophia chuckled softly, tucking her phone.

When sofia finally stepped out, her skin warm and her towel wrapped tightly around her phone in hand, Sofia caught her reflection in the mirror. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of something—guilt for the love she just lost, or blaming her little girl, maybe—crossed her expression. But she quickly brushed it aside, her lips curling into a small, self-assured smile. She didn't have time for guilt.