Chapter 158

Chapter 158
Sienna's POV

At 5:30 AM, Hayes's alarm woke me when my body was still heavy with exhaustion from the previous night's emotional ordeal. Everything that had happened at the hospital felt like it had occurred to someone else—my mother's surgery, Martin's revelations, and that devastating conversation in the car where I had finally told Hayes about my brother, about how my parents' grief had consumed me whole.

Hayes was already sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his practice gear. Noticing I was awake, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"Team meetings and physicals today," he said quietly, his voice still rough with sleep. "Everyone has to attend. I tried to get out of it, but—"

"It's okay," I interrupted, though my stomach clenched at the thought of facing this day alone. "You need to focus on the game."

He studied my face carefully in the dim light filtering through the curtain gaps. "I hate leaving you at a time like this. Are you sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow? I could go with you tomorrow."

The offer was tempting—very tempting, and I almost agreed. But something deep inside me rebelled against delaying any longer. "I need to see her today. While I still have the courage."

Hayes nodded slowly, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Call me if you need anything. Anything at all."

After he left, I sat in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee that had gone completely cold, staring at my phone in a daze. Martin had texted earlier saying visiting hours started at 10 AM, that my mother was stable but still in the ICU. The rational part of my brain knew I should go. The fearful part wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this was happening.

At 9:45, I stood in the hospital parking lot, keys in my hand, but my feet couldn't move toward the entrance. The building loomed before me, all glass and steel, and the promise of conversations I wasn't ready to have.

As I approached my mother's room, I found myself walking slower and slower, as if my body was trying to buy me more time.

Through the observation window, I could see her. The heart monitor traced its steady rhythm across the screen. Her face was pale, almost gray, and she hadn't woken up yet.

I pressed my palm against the cool glass, watching the rise and fall of her chest. This woman who had been such an overwhelming presence in my childhood—not through love or attention, but through her devastating absence—now looked as fragile as paper.

Part of me wanted to rush in and demand answers. Another part wanted to turn around and never come back. Both impulses felt equally valid and equally impossible to act on.

"Excuse me, are you family?"

I turned to find a nurse approaching, her expression kind but professional. "I'm her daughter."

The nurse said gently, "She woke up about an hour ago, but she's been drifting in and out of sleep. The surgery took a lot out of her."

My throat felt tight. "Can she... have visitors?"

The nurse hesitated. "Normally, yes, but..." She glanced toward the room, then back at me. "Can I be honest with you? She's physically stable, but emotionally fragile. The doctors are concerned that stress might affect her recovery. Any difficult conversations should probably wait until she's stronger."

Relief flooded through me so suddenly that I had to grip the window frame to stay steady. "How long?"

"A few days, maybe a week."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The nurse walked away, leaving me alone with my reflection in the window—a woman who looked as lost as she felt.

I found Martin in the family waiting area, slumped in an uncomfortable chair with a cup of coffee that had clearly been forgotten for hours. When he saw me, his face lit up with relief.

"Sienna, thank God. I wasn't sure you'd come."

"I almost didn't," I admitted, sinking into the chair beside him.

Martin nodded. "She's been drifting in and out of consciousness." He paused, studying my face carefully. "You don't look ready for this."

"I'm really not," I said quietly. "I thought I was, but seeing her like that..." I gestured toward the ICU. "She's so vulnerable. What if I say something that makes her condition worse?"

"Then you wait," Martin said simply. "Healing can't be rushed, Sienna. Not hers, and not yours."

This permission to wait—to not be ready—was exactly what I needed to hear. "A week," I said, more to myself than to him. "Give me a week to figure out what I want to say."

"I think that's wise." Martin reached over and patted my shoulder. "Should I tell her you were here?"

I considered this. "Not yet. I don't want her to think I'm avoiding her, but I also don't want her to spend her recovery time worrying about whether I'll come back."

"I understand." Martin's voice held no judgment.

---

The days that followed blurred together in a haze of avoidance and anxiety. I threw myself into work with an intensity that bordered on obsession, spending 18-hour days at the workshop, meticulously adjusting Hayes's cleats. The familiar rhythm of cutting and stitching became a meditation, a way to quiet the chaos in my mind.

But this distraction only worked while my hands were busy. The moment I stopped, those thoughts would come flooding back. What would I say to her? How do you confront someone who shaped your entire childhood through their absence? How do you forgive someone who wasn't there to ask for forgiveness?

On the third afternoon, Hayes called during his post-training cooldown. He was still in the locker room, sweat-darkened hair clinging to his forehead, every line of his body showing exhaustion.

"How was your day?" he asked, and I could tell he was trying to keep his tone casual.

I was curled up on our couch, wearing one of his old practice jerseys, clutching a cup of tea I hadn't touched. "Fine. Productive."

Hayes was quiet for a moment, and I could see him processing the careful neutrality in my voice. "Sienna."

"What?"

"You're lying to me."

The gentle certainty in his voice cracked something open in my chest. I felt tears start to well up, and suddenly I couldn't hold it together anymore.

"I don't know what I'm going to say to her," I whispered. "I've spent twenty years imagining this conversation, and now that it's actually going to happen, I'm terrified I'll say something I can't take back."

Hayes leaned closer to the camera, his gray-blue eyes intense even through the phone screen. "What are you afraid you'll say?"

"That I hate them," I admitted, the words coming out in a rush. "I spent so many years thinking I wasn't worth loving because they couldn't be bothered to show up in my life."

"And what if you do say those things?"

I stared at him. "Hayes, she just had major surgery. She's vulnerable, and—"

"And you've been vulnerable your entire life because of choices she made," he interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You have the right to your anger, Sienna. You have the right to make her understand what her absence cost you."

"But what if it makes her sicker? What if the stress—"

"Then that's her consequence to face," Hayes said quietly. "You are not responsible for managing her emotions or protecting her from the truth. You never were."

These words hit me like a physical blow. For so many years, I'd been trying to hold everything together, trying to be perfect enough to earn love, trying to protect everyone else from difficult truths. The idea that I could simply... stop doing that felt both revolutionary and terrifying.

"I'll be there with you," Hayes continued. "Tomorrow's our last regular season game, and after that, I'm all yours. You won't have to face this alone."

I nodded.