Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Hopper
I’ve never told anyone this.
Not my brothers. Not even Malerick, and he’s the only one I still bother talking to. My mother knew I adopted Maddie, but I never told her the details. Never told her how it happened, or why I was the one who walked out of that hospital with a newborn instead of Cynthia.
Maddie was only a week old when it happened.
And the truth?
I have trouble remembering that day.
Not because I don’t want to—though God knows I don’t—but because there are parts of it my brain has locked away. Tucked into the darkest corners, buried deep under all the things I’d rather not deal with.
But sometimes, on nights like this, when the house is too quiet and the fire burns low, I remember anyway.
Daniel was my best friend. Like a brother. I liked him a lot more than any of my brothers, for that matter.
We met in undergrad. He was my roommate. We both had the same goals and ended up starting a clinic together in San Diego. I handled the big animals—horses, cattle, livestock—while he treated the small ones. It was a good balance. A good partnership. We had a great thing going.
Until we hired Tanya.
She was a force of nature. Daniel fell in love. Soon after, she started volunteering overseas, offering veterinary care to communities that didn’t have access to it. Then she introduced me to Cynthia.
Beautiful, smart, available Cynthia.
At first, it was easy. We had fun. She was charming in a way that made you believe she knew exactly what she wanted, and for a while our relationship worked. But she wanted marriage, kids, something that felt permanent. I liked her, but I didn’t love her enough to say yes to all that.
And when I told her that, she didn’t take it well. We broke up. I thought that was the end of it.
Then, a year later, Daniel and Tanya called me.
They were in Colombia, finishing up a project before Tanya had the baby. They needed someone to come and cover the clinic while they went back to San Diego. It wasn’t a big deal—just a couple of months, making sure things ran smoothly. Daniel would hire someone to cover the clinic.
By the time I arrived, Cynthia was already there.
She was different and pregnant, just like Tanya. She didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t ask. She wasn’t supposed to stay long—there were complications with her pregnancy, and she needed to get back to the States.
That night, she was rushed to the hospital.
And Maddie was born.
Too soon.
Too small.
She was placed in the ICU, a tangle of wires and beeping machines, barely bigger than my hands. The next day though, Cynthia was discharged.
We were supposed to go back to the house where she had been staying with Daniel and Tanya so she could grab a few things before flying home. Daniel and Tanya decided to come along. Pack their things so they could leave. There was friction between them but I didn’t ask. Again, I just wanted to get the job done and hope that my stay wouldn’t be longer than two months.
That was the plan—until the accident.
The roads outside Bogotá are unpredictable. One minute, they’re smooth pavement, the next, they’re a death trap of loose gravel and sharp turns.
It happened fast.
One second, Daniel was driving. Tanya was in the passenger seat, her hands folded over her stomach. Cynthia was beside me in the back, too tired to do anything but lean her head against the window.
The next?—
The headlights were blinding. A truck, coming too fast.
Then impact.
The sound of metal twisting, glass shattering.
Blood.
So much blood.
I woke up to the smell of gasoline and smoke, the world tilting in and out of focus. My whole body felt wrong, like I wasn’t all there. My head throbbed, something warm and sticky dripping down my face.
Daniel wasn’t moving.
Tanya’s body was crumpled against the door, her seatbelt still holding her in place.
Cynthia—
She was still breathing. Barely.
I tried to reach for her, but my arm wouldn’t move right.
Her eyes met mine, wild and desperate, but there was nothing I could do.
Nothing but watch.
Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in my ears. Then her body went still.
Then Daniel. Then Tanya.
All of them.
I was the only one who made it out.
I spent two weeks in a hospital bed, trying to piece myself back together. My arm was broken, my ribs bruised, a gash down the side of my head that required stitches. They said I was lucky.
I didn’t feel lucky.
Once I was discharged, I planned to go back to San Diego until they reminded me of Maddie. She needed someone and I was the only one who could take care of her. Cynthia hadn’t filed her birth certificate. I hired a lawyer who said it’d be best if we just submitted it with my name as the father. Technically, I’m her birth father.
Once I was back, I made the decision. Sell the practice and move back to Birchwood Springs with Maddie. Maybe Mom could give me a hand with her. At least guide me as to how to raise the little girl who, like my life, felt like a gift after the tragic accident.
While I was preparing the place for the sale, I went through Dan’s office. His desk cluttered with patient notes, an empty coffee cup on the edge, like he was coming back.
But he wasn’t.
And neither was Tanya.
Or Cynthia.
I sat in his chair, numb, flipping through emails I had no intention of answering.
And that’s when I saw it.
A message chain between Daniel and Cynthia.
Then I read.
And I read.
And I read.
By the time I finished, I couldn’t breathe.
Maddie was Daniel’s daughter. It was messy, it was something Tanya didn’t know about, but he planned on leaving her and the newborn. I don’t even know what I could tell my daughter about her parents. It’s messy and complicated. But at the end she’s mine. Mine to raise, to protect, and to love the way I couldn’t love her mother. And yes, there are nights when I wonder what would’ve happened if I had been different. Mature enough to realize that life can be taken away from you at any moment.
We don’t have the luxury to wait until we’re old enough to live. Maybe that’s why I tried my best to be a good father to Maddie, because I feel like I owe her parents. Yes, I wasn’t driving, but . . . I was the only survivor and that’s hard to live with.
I finish my story and sip my wine, my hands gripping the glass like it’s the only thing keeping me in the now.
Across from me, Nysa hasn’t touched her drink.
She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to.
She listens.
She lets the silence settle, lets me have the space to sit in it.
I don’t know why I told her all of that.
Maybe because she understands what it’s like to carry ghosts.
Maybe because, for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m carrying them alone.