The first thing I felt was pain.
Not sharp but deep, heavy, everywhere.
My eyelids fluttered, refusing to open at first. Voices reached me through the haze, distant and overlapping, like I was underwater.
"Elena…" "She's waking up…" "Thank God…"
I forced my eyes open.
Bright white light stabbed into my vision, and I winced, my head throbbing. The smell of antiseptic filled my lungs as reality slowly settled back in.
Hospital.
I turned my head slightly and froze.
They were all there.
My mother stood closest to the bed, her eyes red and swollen, one hand clutching mine tightly like she was afraid to let go. Tears streamed down her face as soon as she saw my eyes open.
"Oh my God," she cried. "You scared us to death."
My father stood beside her, his face pale with worry, relief washing over his features as he let out a shaky breath.
"You're awake," he said softly. "You're really awake."
My throat tightened painfully.
My eyes were filled tears.
Then I saw him.
Victor stood near the foot of the bed, his arm wrapped in a light bandage, a small cut near his forehead. Compared to me, his injuries were minor.
But his face
It was shaken.
The calm, controlled Victor Blackwood was gone.
"Elena," he said, his voice rough. "Don't ever do that again."
I tried to speak, but my chest ached too much.
"She pushed me," Victor continued quietly, guilt heavy in his tone. "She moved in front of me. Took the impact."
My mother gasped, turning toward him. "She did what?"
Victor's jaw tightened. "If she hadn't… I don't know what would've happened."
I remembered it clearly.
The vision.
The truck.
The split second decision.
I hadn't thought.
I had just moved.
A sudden movement near the door caught my attention.
Another man stood there, hesitant, hands clenched tightly in front of him.
The truck driver.
Alive and unharmed.
Our eyes met and his expression broke.
He stepped forward slowly. "I… I just wanted to see if she was okay," he said, his voice trembling. "If she hadn't turned the car… I wouldn't be standing here."
My breath hitched.
In my past life, he had died because of us.
He bowed his head slightly, overwhelmed. "Thank you," he whispered. "You saved my life."
Tears spilled freely down my cheeks.
I didn't answer.
Because how do you explain to someone that you saved them twice once too late,
and once in time?
My mother squeezed my hand tighter. "Why would you do something so reckless?" she cried. "Why didn't you think about yourself?"
I closed my eyes briefly.
Because I already knew how this ended.
Because I couldn't watch someone else die again.
The truck driver stepped closer to my bed, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.
He looked nervous. Overwhelmed.
"I… I don't know how to thank you," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "If you hadn't turned the car… I would've died."
My mother inhaled sharply beside me.
I looked at him and forced a small smile, even though my chest ached.
"You're safe," I said softly. "That's what matters."
He shook his head, eyes shining. "No. You didn't just save me you gave me my life back." He swallowed hard. "I have a family. Kids. I would never have seen them again."
My fingers curled into the blanket.
I knew that pain.
"I'm glad you're okay," I replied. "Please… go home."
He nodded repeatedly. "I will. And I'll never forget this. Ever."
He hesitated, then bowed his head slightly in respect before turning toward the door.
"Thank you," he said one last time.
I watched him leave alive and breathing.
The moment the door closed behind the truck driver, Victor moved.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me tightly too tightly.
A sharp pain shot through my chest and shoulder.
"Ouch—" I gasped softly, my breath hitching.
Victor froze instantly.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, pulling back, panic flooding his face. "I didn't— I forgot—"
"It's okay," I whispered, even though my body throbbed in protest.
But he wasn't okay.
His hands hovered around me, unsure where to touch, afraid of hurting me again. His eyes were red now, guilt written openly across his face.
"I wasn't paying attention," he said, his voice breaking. "I was looking at my phone. I should've been watching the road."
Tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.
"I could've killed you."
My heart clenched.
I lifted my hand slowly, ignoring the ache in my arm, and placed it gently against his chest. "Victor," I said softly, "look at me."
He shook his head. "You jumped in front of me. You took the impact. You shouldn't have—"
"But I did," I interrupted gently. "And we're both here."
That only made him cry harder.
"I don't deserve that," he whispered. "I don't deserve you."
I forced myself to sit up a little and pulled him closer, resting my forehead against his shoulder.
"I'm okay," I murmured. "I promise."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he carefully moved back, his gaze dropping to the bandages on my head, then to my chest, then to my shoulder. His eyes traced every injury slowly, as if counting each one like every mark was something he had caused.
His jaw tightened.
"I should've protected you," he said quietly. "That's my job."
I watched him, my heart aching in a way painkillers couldn't touch.
In my past life, I had watched this same man look at my wounds without emotion.
Now he looked at them like they were carved into him.
I reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "Please don't blame yourself."
He looked up at me then, eyes dark and wet. "How can I not?"
Because I already know what you become, I thought.
But instead, I smiled weakly and said, "Because I'm still here."
He nodded slowly, like he was memorizing my face, my voice afraid I might disappear if he looked away.
Victor pressed a careful kiss to my forehead, avoiding the bandage, his touch reverent.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
Because I had heard those words before.
And they had broken me once already.