A/N: This chapter contains a connective theme to the first part of the series. If you have read the first story, please try to code your comments so to not spoil it for others. If you have not read the first story, do me a favor and avoid the comments in the second half of the chapter just in case.

Thanks!

***Edit: Everything has been spoiled. Proceed at your own risk.

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The hospital corridor is quiet and cold, only adding to my anxiety. "Please, is there nothing you can do?" I beg the nurse in hushed tones.

"I'm sorry. I don't decide how much services cost. That will have to contact your insurance for that."

I sigh. "She doesn't have insurance." You can't be a convict with a terminal illness if you want that.

I drove for hours into the night to get here. The doctor said mom had "an episode". She got confused and forgot where she was. When she got violent, they decided to knock her out with drugs, and when she unsurprisingly had a bad reaction, they had to rush her to the hospital. Fucking shitheads.

My nerves were frayed the whole way here, but by the time I arrived, everything had passed and mom acted as if she didn't remember any of it. That's probably just how they wanted it to be -- less chance of a lawsuit if you black out your main witness. Now, they are all forgiven and I'm about to be left with the costs of an ambulance ride, medications and fines from the facility, and a night's stay at a hospital. That doesn't translate to hundreds of dollars, it translates to thousands. 

Fuck my entire life.

"I'm going to school right now, and she obviously can't pay for this herself ..."

The older woman gives me an unamused frown. "There are payment plans we can get you set up on. Wait here and I will send someone to go over it with you both."

A payment plan does not equal a discount. If anything, it equals a smidge more time before they realize I can't pay and I'm sent to collections. It's bullshit, but I don't have the energy to argue with it any longer. "Okay. Thanks." Without another word, she walks away.

I glance back into the room but can't bear to go inside. I hate her right now. The week has done nothing but remind me of all the ways she has ruined my life. But she still raised me. She still protected me from my father's wrath. She's still my mother.

There is a way to fix this. I have options, they just come with yet another sacrifice. 

Though I hate myself for it, I pull out my phone and dial the number. It goes straight to voicemail, and when the message beeps, I say, "Hi, Daniel. It's me." I fidget nervously in the corridor. "I know you won't get this until you get back but ... I just wanted to let you know that I'd be happy to stay with you."

I feel nearly sick saying the words. Using him isn't what I want. A part of me wants to be with him in a real way, but life doesn't work like that. Whether I feel something for him or not, he is my client, and I simply need the money.

"Call me when you get back to the states," I say before hesitating. "I miss you."

I end the call and the disappointment sets in. What the hell am I doing? Lying and using people who care about me while I slowly destroy myself to make up for my parent's mistakes. Sounds familiar. 

My eyes burn but the tears won't come. They never do. I take a deep breath and go back into mom's room.

She sits up in the bed, happily reading a fashion magazine. I didn't want to see her this weekend. I was doing a pretty, damn good job of keeping myself from remembering until this happened. I should have known it was too good to be true. Hours of making me worry about her, and now she's fine, giggling to herself as she flips through the pages. Sitting in the chair next to her, I lean my elbows onto the bed and let my anger succumb to my tiredness.

"I love the models from Victoria. So many are Brazilian," she says, her accent extra thick. I tilt my head in her direction, though I have no intention of listening to her rambling. "They say my daughter looks like one. Have I told you about her? My daughter?" she asks me. She probably thinks I'm a nurse again. I wish I were. "She's so beautiful."

That's how I know she's talking about Z and not me. She's never said I was beautiful. Pretty, she'd allow herself on occasion, but nothing could compare to the perfection of Z. The perfection she both created and destroyed. I roll my eyes with a sigh and don't respond.

"She studies architecture at Northeastern University -- a very prestigious school. She's taking a semester abroad in Italy right now," she says dreamily. Her hands quiver slightly, causing the pages of her magazine to flutter. "She's been in Florence for six months. She says she loves it there."

She has told this story so many times. I usually cut her off at this point and let her know that I am indeed not her nurse, but rather her second-favorite child, but I don't have the effort right now. I have missed Z bad this week. All the talk of her with Remy and Dr. Richards, all the denial of my own emotions for the sake of keeping it together ... Hearing mom talk about her as if she isn't gone is comforting in a morbid way. So, I let her keep talking.

"She emails me and sends me postcards every week. She goes on and on about the culture, how lovely everything is over there." I find myself smiling. A happy Z was a truly beautiful thing. Her smile was so infectious. I never knew whether it was because she did it so rarely, or because when she smiled, I knew there was still a reason to be happy. "Did I tell you she has a boyfriend?"

I perk up slightly. She's never told me this part before. "No, you didn't."

"His name is Gabriele," she says, adding a bit of flair to the pronunciation. "He's a model."

I stare at her, watching her proud smile. That seems right for Z. She could have any man she wanted, and they were always just as gorgeous as her -- Remy included. But I've never heard of this Italian model before. "Is it serious?" I ask cautiously.

"I think so." What? "She said she was staying with him in his family's home outside of Siena. Just last week she mentioned extending her trip past the semester to stay with him a bit longer. I think he will end up coming back here with her once she finishes."

This is fucking crazy. Z came back from Italy alone. That's also when she dropped out of school. I remember something about her became so vacant, distant. I always thought it was because she hated herself for failing out of school, but maybe there was more to it? "But he didn't come back with her," I say, just above a whisper. I'm not supposed to try to force her back into lucidity like this. "What happened with Zipporah and Gabriele?"

Her face drops from her smile. She stares off into the distance as if Z was across the room, her expression twisted with disappointment. "She had to go and get herself pregnant."

The room suddenly feels ice cold. My skin prickles painfully when the word settles into my brain. Z got pregnant. "Wh-what?" Mom looks at me, the snarl still twisting her lips. "She did what?"

"She scared him off talking of marriage. You can't tie down a European with a simple pregnancy," she brushes it off as if it's common knowledge. I stare at her, barely breathing as I wait for her to go on. "She came back and gave the baby away to some poor family near her school."

My heart starts pounding in my chest. I am going to be sick. I am going to be fucking sick. "Mommy, what do you mean she gave her baby away?" I say, my breathing coming in labored with my shock. "Z had the baby -- she ... she had a baby!?"

Mom looks at me and her expression changes from confusion to fear. "Who are you?"

Goddammit, not right now. "Mommy, it's me, Maggie," I say as calmly as I can while I am still short of breath. I stand and grip her hands. "Magdalena. Your daughter."

Her eyes go wild with fear. "You aren't my daughter!" she yells and tries to pull my hands from her. "No! I don't know who you are!"

"Mommy, stop. Please!" I pin her hands to the side. "Tell me again. Zipporah had a baby? Is that true?" She looks at me in fear, but I am having a complete meltdown. "Tell me! Tell me!" I plead. Her eyes go wide, then close as she lets out a blood-curdling scream.

Nurses rush in moments later as mom continues to scream. They pull me from her, gripping my arms as I fight to stay close. I want to scream back at her, I want to hurt her. How could she not tell me that a piece of my sister still exists? How could she take her away from me again?

They take me out of the room to scold me on my behavior, but I am much more concerned with the information I just received. I turn to leave without letting them finish a sentence. "Miss?" A nurse calls as I start to storm away. "Miss!"

I keep my pace and yell back, "Just send me the fucking bill!"

♡♡♡

I feel numb, still in shock as I drive back home. Z has a kid. A piece of her is out there and I may never know anything else about them. How? How could I not know this? I feel sick as I try to put the pieces together.

If Z got pregnant in Italy, I still would have been too young to pick up on what had happened. Too young to know what "gave it up" meant in any capacity. After that, it was almost a decade of watching her live off our parent's money as she moved from one coping mechanism to another. Maybe it wasn't just the memories of dad she was trying to avoid. Maybe it was regret, too.

The night she died, she gave me that stupid teddy bear bracelet she never took off, saying she wanted me to have it, and I thought nothing of it. Why did I think nothing of it?

When I found her the next morning, I knew. She had done it intentionally. I just didn't know why.

I knew she had been through so much, she had so many demons she tried to kill, but I never thought one of them would be something like this. Remy came the closest to getting her back on a good path, helping her punish herself in a way that still made her happy, but even he couldn't ... Wait ...

My skin prickles in a cold dread when it dawns on me.

Remy knew.

I stare at nothing, my fear burning into anger. My breathing starts to become labored as my blood boils. If Remy knew, if he didn't tell me after all these fucking years, I'll --

I snap out of it just in time to see the red light and the car crossing my path. I slam on the brakes too late. 

Tires screech. My body lurches forward when we collide, the airbag abruptly and painfully stopping my momentum.

Panting with adrenaline and shock as the bag slowly deflates, my head screams, my chest and hips ache. As the dust settles, I find my windshield in tiny pieces in my lap and in my hair. I look up and see nothing but white smoke radiating from what used to be the front of my car.

Fucking shit.

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A/N: WARNING: PART I SPOILERS! Google where Northeastern University is located and then ask me your questions here. 

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