Light nudges at my eyes before I even open them. It's softer this time. Gold instead of blinding white. I don't know how long I've been out, but my body feels like it got run over by something big and only half survived the experience.
Machines hum nearby. A monitor beeps in slow, patient intervals. The air smells like lemon cleaner and plastic. I blink slowly. The ceiling is plain white. There are no cracks, no stains. It is just blank.
"Hey there, sunshine."
The voice pulls my attention to the corner of the room.
"Is this heaven?" I croak.
"Hospital, Sunny," the voice replies kindly.
I cough, wincing as my ribs protest. "Ugh. Nope. Still in hell."
The nurse laughs softly. She's wearing pink sneakers and a ponytail that's losing a long battle with gravity. She says my name like it belongs to me. Like I belong here.
"How do you know my name?" I ask. My throat still sounds like gravel.
"It's on your chart, honey," she says gently. "You gave us quite a scare yesterday."
"Yeah," I mutter. "I do that."
I lift a hand to push my hair out of my face. It's stiff with something, blood, probably, or just hospital grime. A lock falls across my eyes.
The nurse stares. Just for a second, but I know that look. I have seen that look many times over. People always stare.
One blue eye. One green.
Mom used to call them freak eyes. Strangers called them beautiful, like I was some kind of magic trick. The nurse blinks and quickly looks away, embarrassed.
"You've got a detective coming by later," she says, adjusting something on the machine beside me. "Just talk when you're ready, okay?"
A detective is coming. Perfect. Just what I need. Nothing says good morning like a reminder that your life is now evidence. She leaves, and the room settles into quiet again.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The monitor keeps time with my heartbeat, tethering me to the world.
Alive.
Still.
I stare at the ceiling and wonder if my mismatched eyes are the only reason anyone ever notices me, and what they'll see now that I've survived. I'm halfway through convincing myself I can fake-sleep through anything when the door creaks open.
"Detective Marlowe," the nurse says from the hallway. "She's awake, but take it slow."
A man steps into the room. He is tall and rumpled. Eyes tired in the way only cops and single parents get. He's holding a notebook and wearing that careful expression adults use when they're about to ask questions you don't want to answer.
"Hey, Sunny," he says, like we've met before. "I'm Detective Marlowe. How're you feeling?"
"Like I lost a fight with a truck," I say. "And the truck won."
He almost smiles. "You're tougher than you look."
"That's what everyone says before they underestimate me."
He pulls a chair beside the bed and flips open his notebook. The scratch of paper fills the space where my pulse should be.
"I know this is hard," he says gently. "But we need to talk about your parents."
Ice slides down my spine. My heartbeat stumbles. I stare at him.
"They're not dead, are they?"
His jaw tightens slightly.
"No, they are missing and at large."
I nod. Processing what he said. What a neat little word for all the blood and lies.
"And him?" I whisper. "My dad?"
Marlowe glances down at his notes like the answer might be easier to read than say.
"Sunny… the man you've been living with—he's not your biological father."
For a moment, I think I heard him wrong. The monitor beside me begins beeping faster.
"What do you mean not my father?" My voice cracks halfway through the sentence. "You think this is funny? He...said "
The words dissolve into static. I can't breathe. The ceiling tilts. That dick is not my dad.
Every bruise, every scar, every lie, I tolerated becuase that is what family does. None of it even belonged to me. The monitor erupts into frantic noise. A nurse rushes in. Hands press against my shoulders.
"Panic attack," someone says.
Maybe Marlowe. My world shrinks to the rhythm of their voices.
"In… two… three… out…"
Air scrapes back into my lungs, shaky and hot.
"Sunny," Marlowe says softly.
He's kneeling beside the bed now. "Listen to me."
I focus on his voice.
"You have family," he continues. "Real family. Your biological father didn't know about you."
My vision swims.
"He's on his way here."
I blink hard. "He doesn't even know I exist?"
Marlowe shakes his head.
"He does now."
The beeping slows. One breath at a time. I turn toward the window, watching pale sunlight creep through the blinds.
So that's it. The man who hurt me isn't my father. The man who's coming doesn't know me. Somewhere between those two strangers, I have to figure out who I am.
And for the first time in my life…
I'm not sure which scares me more.