Kamille woke up feeling nauseous. Her head spun, a splitting headache throbbing from ear to ear. She groaned, turning to her side as bile rose in her stomach. An incessant beeping sound from above her worsened her disorientation.

“Miss? Can you hear me?”

The nausea subsided after a few deep breaths. She struggled back to her previous position, only to realize her back ached as if she'd been lying there for hours. Her eyelids felt heavy; it took three tries to crack them open.

A bright light hit her, making her wince.

“She’s responding to the light. Good,” a woman’s voice said. “Get the doctor; she might want to speak to him.”

Kamille finally opened her eyes fully, taking in her surroundings: a sterile white hospital room. She was in bed, her arm outstretched, attached to various tubes. Two nurses were asking questions she didn’t register.

Trying to remember how she got there, the memories flooded back: the failed brakes, the speeding truck, the panic, the crash. Her baby.

Gasping, she scrambled into a sitting position, clutching her belly. “My baby… please… please tell me my baby is alright!”

“Please, take it easy, ma’am, you’re still very fragile…” A hand rested on her shoulders, gently pushing her back. “No sudden movements, please. You still need that saline drip.”

Her heart raced. This baby was all she had left. She looked desperately at the middle-aged nurses. “My baby? My baby?”

“Your pregnancy is completely fine, ma’am. Your belly was cushioned by the airbag. Do you remember the accident, Miss Kamille? I saw your name on your belongings.”

Kamille nodded, collapsing back in relief. Her pregnancy was in its early stages, but equally fragile. Facing the trauma and the accident, she knew many pregnancies would have miscarried.

“The doctor will answer any questions,” one nurse said, handing a clipboard to the other. “I’ll take your vitals now.”

The door opened, and an elderly man in a white coat entered. He smiled warmly.

“Ah, you’re awake. I’m glad. How are her vitals?”

“Good so far, doc.”

He stepped closer. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past few weeks, Miss Kamille. I’m glad you and the baby are perfectly fine. A good Samaritan rescued you from the crash and brought you here.”

Kamille blinked, stunned. “Weeks? It’s been weeks?”

“Yes, and you need a couple more weeks to recover. Thankfully, you didn’t break any bones, just tissue damage and easily fixable internal bleeding.” He added calmly, “Inform the nurses of any pain.”

She couldn’t believe she’d spent weeks unconscious in this hospital.

“This person who helped me… I have to thank them,” she said. “I wouldn’t be here without their kindness.”

The doctor shook his head regretfully. “They didn’t wait long after dropping you off. They paid all the bills and retrieved your belongings. They also requested anonymity.”

“What?” Kamille frowned. “The least I can do is show my gratitude.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. You’re alive and healthy, and that’s all that matters.” He pointed to a checkbook. “They left this for you; enough money to get settled once you’re discharged.”

A checkbook? A complete stranger? Confused, Kamille remained in a daze until the doctor and nurses left.

“Oh, and one more thing, Miss.”

Kamille looked up. He smiled softly. “You’re not expecting just one baby. The scan showed multiple cell clumps. It’s too early to say twins or triplets, but it’s definitely more than one.”

Kamille touched her belly. “Really?” It was beautiful, yet terrifying. Without her anonymous helper, how would she manage?

“Please rest. The nurses will bring food.”

He left. The TV was muted, displaying a random show. Kamille turned up the volume and flipped through the channels until she saw “Manor” in the news headlines. She froze.

THE MANORS CONFIRM DEATH OF ANOTHER FAMILY MEMBER IN CAR CRASH.

A picture showed the wreckage of her white Jeep—unrecognizable, a twisted mess of burnt leather and metal. She shivered, realizing she’d survived that. The picture switched to police and reporters surrounding the crash site. Her father and mother stared sorrowfully at the camera.

“How could I lose my precious child so soon after burying my mother?” her father lamented. “These are hard times for the Manor family, and coping with this loss will be very difficult.”

Kamille sat up straighter. They’d confirmed her death! How was that possible without a body? Her father and mother were feigning grief, while she grappled with the lengths they’d gone to get rid of her. Her brakes had failed—but her Jeep was in perfect condition. How could they have failed? And why the hasty announcement of her death?

Her heart ached with a pain nothing could heal—except vengeance. She gripped the remote. She would remain dead, as they wished. But she would return when the time was right and exact her revenge.

*

A month later, Kamille was rejected again for a job. Sighing, she slumped onto the couch in her new apartment in the US. After her hospital discharge, she’d left London; there was no point staying if she was supposed to be dead. Her helper had saved her belongings, and the checkbook had funded a one-way flight and a new apartment. She was slowly furnishing it, preparing for her pregnancy, and trying to find work. No weather station would hire her.

She picked up her phone, reviewing her old weather forecast articles. They were gaining popularity, and viewers wanted more. Then it hit her: she didn’t need to be employed. She could focus on creating her own content, a less stressful option as her pregnancy progressed.