The clock on the wall ticked too loudly. Every minute felt drawn out, like time was holding it's breath with them.
Sophie sat stiffly in the corner of the waiting room, her fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Kinuthia stood by the window again, arms crossed, as if anchoring himself to something solid. Neither needed to. The silence between them was thick with anticipation, worry, and something unspoken.
Then the door clicked open.
Annette stepped in, led by the doctor whose expression was noticeably lighter.
"She's a match," he said, straight to the point." Perfect compatibility. We're preparing the transfusion now."
Sophie's exhale was barely audible-almost a sight of surrender. Kinuthia closed his eyes for a moment, a visible wave of relief softening his tense shoulders.
Annette didn't speak at first. She simply looked at them-her gaze flicking from Kinuthia to Sophie, then toward the room where Asta lay. "I'll do it. Whatever he needs. Take as much as he needs."
The doctor nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We only need a small amount. You'll be back on your feet in no time."
Annette followed the nurse out without another glance. She didn't wait for gratitude. She didn't expect it. Asta needed her-that was all that mattered.
The door closed again.
Sophie rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans, though her hands were trembling. Kinuthia glanced at her, searching her expression.
"She came," he said softly, like it was something unexpected.
"She would have. You knew she would," Sophie murmured, her voice taut, quiet but steady. "Asta is her son, too."
He nodded, but something clouded his eyes- an emotion Sophie couldn't quite name.
Guilt? Gratitude? Confusion?
Maybe all three.
"She didn't hesitate," he added after a beat.
Sophie didn't answer. Her gaze remained on the closed door Annette had passed through, as though trying to look beyond it-to understand the woman on the other side, the one who had given birth to the child she had raised.
In that moment, the lines between rivalry and necessity blurred. It wasn't about who loved Asta more.
It was about who he needed-right now.
And today, that answer was Annette.
The room was cold-to sterile, too quiet. The hum of medical equipment was the only sound accompanying her shallow breaths. Annette lay on the reclined cot, a thin blanket over her legs, a tube running from her arm as her blood flowed-quietly, purposefully-toward the boy who had once grown inside her.
Her son.
Asta.
His name echoed through her like a lullaby with no melody-just feeling. Just ache.
She started at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry, not to spiral. But it was impossible to lie still and not remember everything. The day she left. The unbearable weight of that choice. The smell of the coffee fields. The ache in her bones. The shame in her silence. She didn't leave because she stopped loving him-she left because she had nothing to give. No roof. No money. No strength left.
But now, here she was-giving him blood.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
They had raised him, Sophie and Kinuthia. She had watched Sophie cradle him like he was her own. She had watched the tenderness, the care, even the jealousy that flickered behind Sophie's eyes when Annette came close.
And Annette undestood it.
She might have felt the same.
But as the blood continued to flow from her veins, Annette realized something Sophie might never understand: Motherhood isn't measured only in time, or lullabies, or packed lunches. Sometimes, it's in sacrifice. In silence. In waiting.
And sometimes, it's in showing up-even when the world says you gave up.
A nurse came in, checked the levels, offered her water. Annette nodded, politely, quietly.
"Doing okay?" the nurse asked softly.
Annette managed a small smile. "Yes. Better than I thought."
The nurse left her alone again.
Alone with her thoughts. Alone with the truth.
She wasn't trying to reclaim Asta.
She didn't come to threaten Sophie's place.
She came because something inside her refused to stay away-not anymore.
Asta needed her.
And somewhere deep down, she needed him too.
The soft beep of the heart monitor broke the heavy silence in the room.
Asta stirred-slowly at first, his tiny body shifting under the hospital blanket. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing the groggy confusion of a child waking in an unfamiliar place. His lips trembled before the sound came-fragile, almost broken.
"...Mummy...?"
The word sliced the air.
Both women straightened at once.
Annette rose instinctively from the chair beside the bed, her heart lurching as though her name had been summoned from his blood. "I'm here, baby-"
"I'm right here, sweetheart," Sophie's voice overlapped hers, equally soft but firmer, charged with the authority of years.
The two voices collided in the air like clashing tides.
Asta's eyes darted between them, his brow crumpling in confusion. A slow whimper left his lips as he turned toward the ceiling, uncertain, overwhelmed.
Annette froze.
Sophie did too.
And Kinuthia, who had been leaning quietly against the far wall, looked between them- his expression unreadable, but his eyes sharp with tension. The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
Three adults.
One word.
One boy.
One impossible truth.
Annette's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. Really crashed over her like cold water, dragging her back to the present. She was not the one he reached for at night. Not the one he saw when he cried. Not the voice that soothed his fevered dreams.
She stepped back, her throat tightening as she reached for composure.
"I-"she whispered, then cleared her throat. "I'll go get the doctor. Let him know he's awake."
Her voice didn't tremble, but her soul did.
She turned without looking back, pushing the door open with more force than necessary. Behind her, the room remained suspended-Sophie clutching Asta's hand, Kinuthia watching the door long after it had closed.
And outside, in the sterile corridor under fluorescent lights, Annette closed her eyes.
She wasn't his mother.
Not anymore.
She was just the woman who gave him life.
And maybe-just maybe-that wasn't enough.
Annette returned with the doctor, her footsteps firm despite the storm brewing quietly in her chest. She didn't look at Sophie or Kinuthia as she entered-her focus was entirely on Asta.
The pediatrician, a middle-aged man with gentle eyes and a clinical calmness, approached the child and began examining him thoroughly-checking vitals, responsiveness, temperature. Asta clung weakly to Sophie's hand, but his eyes tracked Annette as she stood near the foot of the bed.
After a few quiet moments, the doctor stood upright and offered his assessment. "The transfusion went well. His vitals are stabilizing, but his immune system is fragile right now. He must be in a calm, clean environment. Limited exposure. Constant hydration. Rest. Strictly no emotional distress or physical exertion."
"Understood," Sophie replied quickly, still seated beside the boy.
But before anyone else could speak, Annette's voice cut in-low, firm, and deliberate. "I'll take him home with me. "I'll look after him myself."
"Excuse me?
Annette met her gaze without flinching. "I want him with me. I have space. I'll organize everything-sanitation, diet, round -the-clock care. I'll even register a full-time nanny from the certified agency. I won't take chances."
"No," Sophie said at once, rising to her feet. "You don't know what he likes. What food soothes him. What stories help him sleep. What makes him laugh. You don't know him."
Annette's eyes darkened. "I'm his biological mother. Don't forget that."
"I haven't forgotten," Sophie hissed, her voice shaking slightly. "But I'm the one who's raised him. Who bathed him every night. Who stayed up when he had nightmares. Who learned his allergies, his toys, his moods. You want to bring a nanny into his life now and call that parenting?"
"I didn't say I'd abandon him to her," Annette shot back. "She would assist me-support, not replace. I won't make the same mistake twice."
Sophie crossed her arms. "Then I'll go with him."
That halted the room.
Even Kinuthia, who had remained still all this time, lifted his head in surprise.
"If you're insisting on taking him to your home," Sophie continued, steady but tight, "then I'm coming too. I won't leave him in a place where everything is foreign. Not when he's this weak."
Annette blinked. For a moment, her expression softened with something that looked like disbelief. "You'd move into my house?"
"I'll sleep on the damn floor if I have to," Sophie muttered. "But I'm not handing him over to someone he barely knows, biological mother or not. That's not what's best for him right now."
The doctor stepped back silently, sensing the emotional weight that had nothing to do with medicine and everything to do with love.
Annette exhaled-slowly, sharply. "Fine," she said at last, her jaw tight. "But this isn't your win, Sophie. This is for him. Just don't forget that."
Sophie nodded once. "I never do."
Kinuthia closed his eyes for a moment.
Two women. One child. And no easy answer