Unlawfully His✔️

44. Not over.

Epilogue

Two weeks later.

As I struggled to regain consciousness, distant voices floated around me, pulling me back to reality. Blinking against the overwhelming haze, I finally managed to open my eyes, but the effort left me feeling weak and in pain.

Through the blur, I discerned the figures of a middle-aged lady and a nurse hovering nearby, their presence confusing.

"She's finally awake," someone exclaimed, their voice distant and unfamiliar.

Blinking back the fog of unconsciousness, I tried to piece together what had happened and how the hell I had ended up here, my mind reeling as the memories flooded back. I had been shot.

Panic surged within me as I instinctively reached for my stomach, my fingers grazing the bandages that bound the wound to the side of my stomach. Attempting to speak, I found my voice caught in a strangled whisper, my throat raw and parched.

The nurse gently offered me a sip of water, the cool liquid soothing against my parched lips. As I swallowed gratefully, the old lady leaned in closer, her warm eyes crinkling with what seemed to be a genuine smile.

"You don't have to worry, dear," she reassured me, "Our baby is safe." Her words washed over me like a wave of relief, dispelling the fear that had threatened to engulf me.

I clung to her words like a lifeline, finding solace in the knowledge that amidst the pain and confusion, my baby was still alive and for this I was eternally grateful.

"Wait, how long have I been out for?" I asked, my voice trembling. The nurse exchanged a glance with the older woman before gently replying, "It's been only two weeks, dear."

My eyes widened in shock at the revelation. Only two weeks?! That was a long time! It felt like mere moments ago that I had been going about my daily routine, blissfully unaware of the sudden twist fate had thrown my way.

"What about my job?!"

Panic gripped me as I frantically attempted to swing my legs over the edge of the bed, intent on rushing back to my job. But the nurse and the older woman intervened, their gentle yet firm hands halting my futile escape attempt.

"You need to rest, Quinn," the middle aged woman insisted, "Your job is the least of your worries right now. Your boss thinks you're on leave, thanks to some adamant persuasion on our part."

Confusion clouded my thoughts as I struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Who was this old woman, and why was she here? I couldn't recall ever meeting her before.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling with uncertainty as I turned to the older woman, searching for answers.

The woman then introduced herself, "You can call me Martha, dear, but some people also know me as thee old lady." Her words hung in the air, a peculiar alias that piqued my curiosity. She continued, "In other words, I'm your child's grandmother, well, great-grandmother but let's not exaggerate."

My eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected revelation. Martha? My child's grandmother? The connection slowly dawned on me, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of astonishment and intrigue.

Her features suddenly align to that of Liam.

"I was given word from one of my dearest friends and inside intel, Gretchen," Martha began, her gaze softening with a hint of nostalgia. "She told me about a special woman that my grandson keeps from my horrid daughter."

As Martha's words sank in, a flood of memories rushed back to me, like pieces of a puzzle finally falling into place. I remembered the day Gretchen had visited my home, her cryptic statement about whether I was worth being saved or not now making sense in the context of Martha's revelation.