17. Carrie
— ? —
Carrie
The hospital waiting room smells of antiseptic and fear.
I’ve been sitting in this plastic chair for three hours now, watching nurses come and go, listening to the soft beep of machines somewhere down the hall.
My lungs still burn from the smoke, and there’s an oxygen cannula hooked around my ears that I keep forgetting is there until I try to move and it tugs at my face.
The doctor said I was lucky, minor smoke inhalation, nothing that won’t heal in a few days.
Tom wasn’t lucky.
The burns cover thirty percent of his arm and shoulder.
They rushed him into surgery as soon as the ambulance arrived, and no one has told me anything since.
I don’t even know if he’s alive. I don’t know if the man I love is breathing or if he died going back into that fire for whatever it was he refused to leave behind.
Please, I think. Please let him be okay.
The waiting room has filled up over the past hour.
My mother sits two chairs away, her face pale and drawn, her hands clutching a tissue she hasn’t used.
My father stands by the window, staring out at nothing, his jaw working the way it does when he’s trying not to fall apart.
And Eleanor Donnelly, Tom’s grandmother, the family matriarch, sits ramrod straight in the corner, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
Martha hovers near the door.
She arrived twenty minutes ago, sleepless and unraveled. Her hair is unwashed, her makeup smeared, and she keeps shooting glances at me, waiting for me to explode. I haven’t looked at her directly. I can’t. If I look at her, I’ll start screaming, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop.
“Any word?” My mother’s voice is tentative. She’s been tiptoeing around me since she arrived, handling me carefully, afraid a wrong word might break me.
“Not yet.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Tom is strong. He’s always been strong.”
I don’t respond. I don’t have the energy for false comfort.
The door opens, and everyone tenses. But it’s just a nurse, checking on another patient. Eleanor’s eyes follow her down the hall, then return to me.
“Mrs. Donnelly.” Her voice is crisp, commanding. “When this is over, we need to discuss what happens next.”
“What happens next is that Ulises goes to prison.” The words come out flat. Certain. I’m done pretending. Done performing. Done being the confused, fragile woman who doesn’t remember anything.
My mother frowns. “Carrie, sweetheart, you’re in shock. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” I turn to face her, and whatever is in my expression makes her flinch. “Ulises set that fire. I saw him. He was parked in the trees, watching the cabin burn. Watching us almost die.”
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“It’s the truth. And while we’re telling truths.” I stand up, ignoring the dizziness that washes over me, ignoring the tug of the oxygen cannula. “I never had amnesia. I remember everything. Every single thing that happened the day I fell down those stairs.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
My mother’s face has gone white. My father has turned from the window, his expression unreadable. Eleanor’s eyes have narrowed, sharp and assessing. And Martha, Martha has pressed herself against the wall near the door, trying to disappear into it.
“I remember walking home from the fertility clinic,” I continue, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I remember the doctor telling me I was running out of time. That my eggs were failing. That I had less than five percent chance of ever conceiving.”
My mother makes a small sound. I ignore it.
“I remember coming home and finding a thong on the living room floor. Red lace. Not mine. I remember following the trail of clothes up the stairs, the blouse, the heels, the underwear. I remember opening the bedroom door and finding my husband in our bed. With her.”
I point at Martha.
The color drains out of her face.
“Carrie.” My mother’s voice is pleading.
“I asked for a divorce. Do you know what he said?” I’m looking at Eleanor now, at this woman who presided over the family both Donnelly brothers grew up in, who shaped the men they became.
“He said no. He said I was old. Barren. That Martha was better than me because she was younger, warmer. That I belonged to him.”
“That’s not.” Martha starts.
“Don’t.” My voice cracks, sharp and final.
“Don’t you dare. I heard you in that bathroom at Mom’s birthday party.
You told me my body knew I’d be a terrible mother.
You told me I was never enough for him.” I can feel the tears coming, but I don’t try to stop them.
“You slept with my husband for months. You looked me in the eye at family dinners and lied. And then you stood over me while I bled on the floor and helped him cover it up.”
My father speaks for the first time. “Martha?”
She’s crying now, mascara running down her cheeks. “I didn’t, it wasn’t, Daddy, please.”
“Is it true?” His voice is quiet. Dangerous. “Did you sleep with her husband?”
Martha doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to. The guilt is written all over her face.
My father closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s changed. He’s hardened.
“Get out.”
“Daddy.”
“Get out of this room.” His voice breaks on the last word. “Get out of my sight. I can’t, I don’t want to look at you right now.”
Martha lets out a sob and flees. The door swings shut behind her, and the silence that follows is heavy with things unsaid.
My mother is crying too now, silent tears streaming down her face. “Carrie, I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
“Would it have mattered?” The question is honest. Brutal. “If you had known, would you have done anything? Or would you have asked me to keep quiet for the sake of the family?”
She doesn’t answer. That’s answer enough.
Eleanor rises from her chair. She’s smaller than I remember, age has curved her spine, shrunk her frame, but there’s nothing diminished about the steel in her eyes.
“You faked amnesia to escape my grandson.”
“Yes.”
“And you claimed Tom as your husband to protect yourself from Ulises.”
“Yes.”
“And now Ulises has burned down Tom’s cabin and nearly killed you both.”
“Yes.”
She nods slowly, processing this. “I always knew there was something wrong with that boy. Something cold. His father was the same way, charming on the surface, cruel underneath.” She looks at me. “Tom is different. He was always different.”
“I know.”
“Do you love him?”
The question catches me off guard. I blink, swallow, try to find words that feel big enough for what I feel.
“More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
Eleanor studies my face for a long moment. Then she nods again, the way a woman nods when you’ve passed her test.
“Good.”
The door opens. A doctor steps in, not the one who treated me, but someone older, more serious. His eyes scan the room until they find me.
“Mrs. Donnelly? Carrie Donnelly?”
“That’s me.”
“I have some news for you.” He glances at the family gathered around, clearly uncertain how much to say in front of them.
“It’s fine. Whatever it is, you can say it here.”
He nods. “Your bloodwork came back. We ran a full panel given the smoke inhalation, and...” He pauses, and his expression makes my heart stutter. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”
The world stops.
“What?”
“About five to six weeks along, based on your hormone levels. We’ll want to do an ultrasound to confirm, but the numbers are strong.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My hand goes to my belly, this belly that has betrayed me so many times, this body that I’ve hated and blamed and mourned, and a dam breaks open inside me.
“Pregnant,” I whisper.
“Yes, ma’am.” The doctor smiles. “The baby appears healthy so far. We’ll want to monitor you closely given the smoke exposure, but everything looks good.”
The tears come then. These aren’t the angry tears from before, not grief or frustration. These are joy, and disbelief, and six years of longing finally finding their answer.
“I’m pregnant.” I say it again, just to feel the words in my mouth. “I’m actually pregnant.”
My mother lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. My father crosses the room and folds me against him, the way he used to when I was small.
“Tom?” I ask the doctor. “Is Tom out of surgery? Is he okay?”
“Mr. Donnelly is in recovery. The surgery went well, the burns are serious, but he’s stable. You can see him soon.”
I nod, tears still streaming down my face. Tom is alive. I’m pregnant. After everything, the lies, the cruelty, the fire, we made it.
Eleanor rises from her chair. Her spine is straight, her eyes bright with purpose.
“Then we have a great deal of work to do.”