Her eyes didn't blink.
They stayed fixed on her daughter, ever watchful, burning and dry like sandpaper from the fear that if she looked away — even for a second — something would change and she would miss it.
A machine beeped erratically in the corner of the room.
The nightmare still had a tight hold on her mind and body. Even in the depths of the coma, it was still obvious. She had suffered before, and now she suffered here too.
Her gaze dropped to the limp hand that she squeezed gently. Hoping that through pressure alone, she might anchor her daughter to the world. The contrast of their skin still made her breath hitch — hers a light bronze with a subtle sagging that came with age, Zahra's an ashen grey over soft, youthful skin.
That's not right.
Her lip trembled.
She would give anything to trade places with her. Anything.Thousands of injustices crowded her mind, pressing in until it was all she could do to slow her breathing and keep her thoughts from spiralling apart.
She would never want Zahra to feel even a fraction of how she felt right now.
Never.
Then Zahra's body tensed.
There was no release.
Her eyes darted around her body.
Every muscle seized at once, her limbs drawing tight with strain before small, violent tremors rippled through her. Cramps twisted her fingers, her shoulders, her jaw.
"No—"
Her hands flew to her mouth, horror stealing her breath.
She reached for Zahra again, her touch trembling as she clasped her daughter's hand with both of her own. When she spoke, her voice broke through soft, helpless sobs.
"Zahra, it's me, I'm here."
She swallowed hard. "If you can hear my voice, I want you to know I'm sorry,"
Words started to fall out of her mouth. Words she had been longing to say for some time. "I can't imagine what nightmares you're facing now, what obstacles you faced back when you were growing up without me."
Something caught in her throat as she continued. "I-I'm so sorry for leaving you when you were so young. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me most."
Her plea did nothing to ease the tension in Zahra's body.
Tears slipped freely down her cheeks.
She understood this feeling. Remembered it all too well.
Despite the lifetimes she had lived, feeling your body being ripped apart — mind, body and soul — was something that stuck with you. When you were pushed to the limits of endurance, it became frighteningly easy to let go. To stop fighting. To slip away.
And she had, more times than she cared to admit.
My darling, what horrors could your mind be showing you…
She brushed damp strands of hair back from Zahra's face, her touch reverent, as though afraid she might hurt her even more.
When it had been her — alone, broken, between lives — there had been nothing waiting. No one. Until the day Zahra returned to her, she lived each existence in quiet wonder, always asking the same question.
Could this be the lifetime she got her daughter back?
She stroked the delicate skin of Zahra's cheek, swollen now from tears that never quite fell. The room felt unbearably fragile, like one wrong sound might shatter it.
She had read that coma patients could hear you. Medical journals, desperate late-night searches on her phone — fragments of hope she clung to because there was nothing else.
She chose to believe them.
"Yes," she whispered, leaning closer. "I was on my own for so long. But you're not. You never will be."
All she could do was hope. Hope that her words broke through.
"You are my baby girl, Zahra. And I will withstand whatever life throws at me if it means you're okay." Her breath hitched. "I love you, sweetie. Throughout every age, I've loved you."
She closed her eyes, fighting back another sob.
"And when you wake up, I promise I will answer any questions you have for me. Just… please. Please come back to me."
There was no answer to her plea.
Zahra's body remained rigid, caught in the grip of a nightmare she could not escape. Mrs Goodtree could almost see it — a scrunch from unbearable pain on her face.
"Please," she whispered again. "I hope you understand… I hope one day you forgive me."
Her voice faltered, then steadied with quiet resolve.
"The decision to leave you and your father was the hardest thing I have ever made." Her fingers tightened around Zahra's. "Those Gods… they asked me if I would protect you. If I would bend the rules of time itself. If I would endure lifetimes of pain and suffering — for you."
A tear slipped free.
"And in the end," she breathed, "it was the easiest choice I have ever made."