A Deal With the Harrington's. Part 5 - Steve Harrington imagine.
(Rich Steve Harrington x fem!reader)
part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4.
Summary: When you and your mother are on the verge of losing everything, the Harringtons offer you a deal you can’t refuse: marry their son, Steve, in exchange for clearing her debts and saving your home. It leaves you with no real choice but to agree.
word count: 6,002
Warnings: arranged marriage/forced engagement. Angst. Emotional distress. sadness. fear of loss. car accident. mentions of grief and death.
A/N: sorry for the long wait after a cliff hanger, that's diabolical and I'm sorry. My dumbass broke my only computer charger and I had no way to write the next part 😭 but I got a new charger and so here it is and hopefully it will get better from here? idk yet...
tag list: @dreamerjj @cciessuzi @nowandajenn @kurtsw7rld96 @stevelovr85 @xoprincessmel @exooojongdaeee @whor3sworld @drmscomet @bdllvr @znstyle @znstyle @anditwasjustus @artismytherapy05 @dramallama9 @keeryverse @eller41 @xoxocelestial @oliviaharrington @delightfuldreamer09 @decidessrun @tapedbunnies @boomitsallie1 @kimkat1822 @projections-mortal @kathypellar @goofyg00b @greygirl44 @adaydreamaway30 @4v3rybl0zz0m
*.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.*
“This is St. Mary’s Hospital. We’re calling about your mother.”
…
“Ma’am?” the voice prompted gently, like they were trying not to startle you back into your body.
You couldn’t answer because it felt like if you did, it would make this situation too real in a way you weren’t ready to survive, so you just stayed there. Completely frozen—like maybe if you didn’t respond, the moment would lose its shape and you could somehow pull yourself back to before it happened.
You swallowed, forcing yourself back to the present because the moment wasn’t going away no matter how hard you tried to snap out of it. A sharp ringing filled your ears, dulling everything else, like the world had turned distant and underwater, swallowing whatever coherent thoughts you were trying to hold onto.
“What… about my mom?”
Another pause. Papers shifting on the other end. A practiced inhale, the kind people use when they’ve said this too many times and still haven’t learned how to make it sound normal.
“There’s been an accident,” the woman finally said. “Your mother was involved in a vehicle collision. She was transported to St. Mary’s by paramedics a short while ago.”
A car accident?
Your stomach dropped. The words echoed around your head without settling anywhere.
A car accident.
Your mom.
This was the kind of thing that happened to other people. Other families. Not yours. Not now. Not when everything already felt like it was falling apart. The thought hit so hard it almost hurt.
How much more could possibly go wrong?
You had seen her just a couple days ago. She was fine then, completely normal, alive in a way that felt so certain you hadn’t even thought to question it. So why was this woman informing you about an accident?
“…Is she—” Your voice cracked halfway through the question, so you stopped and tried again. “Is she okay?”
“We’re treating her now,” the voice replied carefully. It wasn’t a yes but it wasn’t a no. She said it in such a careful manner you weren’t sure how to react to it. “She’s stable at the moment, but we need you to come in as soon as possible. Are you able to get here?”
Stable.
That word should have helped ground you, but it didn’t. It wasn’t clear enough to hold onto. It could mean too many things—someone resting, someone unconscious, someone slipping just out of reach. Stable didn’t mean okay and it didn’t mean safe. It just meant everything was still happening and you had no control whatsoever—like everything else in your life.
You nodded before you realized they couldn’t see you. “Yes. I—yeah. I can come.”
“Okay,” the voice said, softer now. “Do you have someone who can drive you?”
For a second, your mind went blank again. Like it couldn’t decide where to reach first. Upstairs. The house. Keys. Car. Someone. Steve. Anyone. “I… I can—” You looked toward the staircase where Steve was residing upstairs without seeing it. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Alright,” the lady said. “We’ll be here when you arrive. Do you understand the location?”
“Yes,” you said automatically.
Another pause, shorter this time. “We’re sorry you’re going through this.”
The line clicked, and then there was nothing but a flat dial tone. You stayed there anyway, the phone still pressed to your ear, like if you let go, the moment would become permanent in a way you couldn’t undo.
You finally lowered the phone slowly, like it might break if you moved too fast. And for the first time since the call started, your brain caught up just enough to form one clear thought:
You had to get to the hospital.
You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already at the bottom of the stairs.
“Steve—” Your voice cracked halfway through his name, sharp and wrong in the quiet house.
“Steve!” you yelled and it came out louder this time, raw enough that it finally pulled him out of wherever he’d gone upstairs. A door opened. Fast footsteps followed, uneven at first, then quickening when he heard you properly.
“Hey—hey, what’s going on?” he called back, already on the stairs. At first, he must have thought you were going to say something about the almost-kiss the two of you had shared moments ago, but your best guess was that whatever he saw in your face the second he caught sight of you made him drop that idea immediately.
He stopped halfway down like he’d hit something invisible. Your face was pale in a way that didn’t look like shock so much as collapse, and your hands were shaking so badly you didn’t even seem to notice it yourself, like your body had started reacting before your mind could catch up. Your breathing wasn’t steady enough to feel like breathing at all, just short uneven pulls of air that didn’t seem to do anything to help.
Whatever had been between you earlier—whatever tension, whatever almost-kiss—was gone. Completely erased. There wasn’t space for it here. It didn’t matter now.
“Talk to me,” he said, softer now, moving the rest of the way down but slower, careful. “What happened?”
You tried to speak, but it came out broken. “My mom—” You swallowed hard, like it hurt. “There was—there was an accident.”
Steve’s expression shifted immediately. The teasing, the awkwardness, everything dropped away. “Oh—okay. Okay,” he said quickly, already moving before he finished processing it. “Where is she? Is she—”
“I don’t know,” you blurted, words spilling too fast now that they’d started. “Hospital. St. Mary’s. They called. I need—I need to get there. Please—can you just—can you drive me?” Your voice cracked again on the last word, and it was like whatever hesitation he might’ve had never even existed.
“Yeah,” Steve said immediately.
No pause. No question.
“Yeah, of course. Come on.”
Steve didn’t waste time asking questions. Before the silence could settle between you again, he was already grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugging it on. “We’ll go right now.”
He pulled open the front door, and a rush of cold air swept inside. It didn’t calm you, but it gave you something to focus on—something other than the panic threatening to take over.
You stepped outside almost automatically, and Steve followed close behind, locking the door as he went. The walk down the driveway felt strangely unreal, your thoughts moving too fast for the rest of you to keep up.
Steve reached the car first and opened the passenger door.
When you hesitated, his expression softened. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” he said quietly. “Just get in, okay?”
You nodded and climbed into the car.
Steve shut your door, circled around, and slid into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over with a rough hum, real and ordinary in a way that felt wrong.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then he pulled out of the driveway, one hand tight on the wheel. “You’re gonna get there,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “We’re going right now.”
And the streetlights blurred past as the house disappeared behind you.
- -
The hospital doors slid open too slowly. Or maybe you were moving too fast.
The automatic glass parted with a soft mechanical sigh, and the smell hit you first. Cleaning chemicals, stale air, something faintly metallic underneath it all. Bright lights buzzed overhead, too white, too awake for the time of night.
Steve was right behind you the whole way in, close enough that you could feel him there without needing to look.
“St. Mary’s—my mom—there was a call—” you started at the front desk, words tumbling out before you could shape them properly.
The nurse looked up immediately, expression shifting into something alert and practiced. “Name?”
You said it.
She typed quickly, eyes scanning a screen you couldn’t see.
“She was brought in earlier this evening,” the nurse said. “Car accident. She’s in the emergency room. They’ve been stabilizing her.”
Stable.
The word hit differently here. Worse, somehow. Maybe because it wasn't coming through a phone anymore. Now it was surrounded by fluorescent lights, rushing nurses, and closed doors you couldn't get through. Everyone kept saying it like it was supposed to mean something reassuring, but all it did was remind you that nobody was saying she was okay.
“Can I see her?” you asked, voice breaking halfway through.
“Not yet,” the nurse said gently but firmly. “They’re still working with her. The doctor will come speak with you as soon as they can.”
Your stomach dropped like it had missed a step.
Steve shifted slightly beside you, like he was ready to catch you if you fell without making it obvious.
“How bad is it?” you asked, quieter now.
The nurse hesitated just long enough for you to feel it. “We need the physician to update you,” she said carefully. “She’s alive. That’s what I can tell you right now.”
Hearing the word “alive” should’ve been a relief to you. Instead it felt like you didn’t know what to do with your hands and what to do with yourself. How were you supposed to just sit here and wait while your mom could be dying?
“Waiting area is just down the hall,” she added, softer now. “Someone will come get you soon.”
You turned without really deciding to, legs moving because there was nowhere else for them to go.
The hallway stretched longer than it should’ve, chairs lining the walls like they were placed there for people who didn’t know what to do with time. Steve followed you in silence until you found a seat—and even then, he didn’t leave.
You sat down like your body finally gave up pretending it was in control.
Steve stayed standing for a second, then slowly lowered himself into the chair beside you.
Neither of you spoke.
Because there wasn’t anything that fit inside that room yet.
A few minutes passed in a way that didn’t feel like minutes at all.
The waiting room stayed the same—too bright, too still, too full of other people trying not to look like they were waiting for bad news. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang and kept ringing until someone finally answered it.
You couldn’t tell how long you’d been sitting there. Your hands stayed clenched in your lap, like letting go would make everything spill out of you.
Steve hadn’t moved.
Every so often, he glanced toward the hallway, then back at you, like he was checking you were still here.
Finally, footsteps.
Not rushed. Not casual either. Controlled.
A man in a white coat appeared at the end of the hall, eyes scanning the room once before settling on you. The way he looked immediately made your stomach tighten.
“Are you here for—” he checked a chart, then said your mother’s name.
You stood up so fast the chair scraped back.
“Yes,” you said immediately. “Is she okay? Can I see her?”
The doctor paused just long enough that your heart started doing something painful.
“She’s alive,” he said first, like he knew that was the only thing holding you up. “But she sustained significant injuries in the collision. Internal bleeding and trauma that required immediate intervention.”
Your ears rang again.
“And she’s—” your voice caught. “She’s stable, right?”
He nodded once. “She’s in surgery right now.”
That word landed harder than the others.
Surgery.
Not waiting. Not observation. Not just a room you could stand outside of and pretend proximity meant something.
Actual hands inside her body trying to fix what had been broken.
Your knees almost gave out.
Steve shifted instantly closer, his hand hovering near your elbow but not grabbing you unless you needed it.
The doctor kept speaking, careful and steady. “The surgical team is doing everything they can. We won’t know more until they’re finished, but she was brought in quickly, which was important.”
You tried to process it, but everything kept slipping. “In surgery,” you repeated under your breath, like saying it differently might change it.
“Yes,” he said gently. “We’ll update you as soon as we have more information.”
Then, softer: “You can stay here. We’ll come get you the moment there’s news.”
And just like that, he was gone again down the hall, leaving the words behind like something you had to carry now.
Surgery.
Steve finally sat closer, his shoulder almost touching yours.
“You heard him,” he said quietly, like he was trying not to shake you more than you already were. “They’re with her. Okay? She’s not alone.”
But all you could see was the word that wouldn’t leave your head.
In surgery.
The words kept echoing long after the doctor disappeared down the hall.
You stared at the empty space he'd left behind, waiting for something else to happen. Another explanation. Another sentence. Something that would make the first one less terrifying.
Nothing came.
Just the waiting room.
Just the lights.
Just the horrible silence.
Your chest tightened.
Steve was still talking, saying something quiet beside you, but the words weren't reaching you anymore.
Surgery.
Internal bleeding.
Trauma.
Alive.
The pieces kept crashing into each other in your head.
You saw your mother standing in the kitchen a few days ago.
You saw her laughing at something stupid.
You saw her telling you to call more often.
You saw her driving away.
And suddenly all you could think was:
What if that was the last normal conversation you ever had with her?
The thought hit so hard it felt physical. A sharp, painful crack somewhere deep inside your chest. Your breath caught. Then another. And another.
Steve stopped talking immediately. "Hey."
You couldn't answer.
Your vision blurred.
"Hey."
The first tear slipped down before you even realized you were crying.
Then another.
Then everything broke.
A sob tore out of you so suddenly it almost hurt. You folded forward, hands flying to your face as the sound escaped your throat.
"No—"
Your shoulders shook violently.
"No, no, no..."
It wasn't even words anymore.
Just pure panic.
Pure fear.
Grief even, trying to arrive before it had permission.
Steve's face drained of color. "Hey, hey—"
Another sob cut through you. "What if she dies?" you choked out.
The question hung between you.
Awful and terrifying.
"What if she dies and I didn't—I didn't get to—"
Your voice shattered completely. You couldn't finish.
Steve moved instantly. One second he was beside you. The next he was kneeling in front of your chair.
"Look at me."
You couldn't.
Fresh tears spilled down your face.
"Hey."
His voice was firm this time. Gentle, but firm.
"Look at me."
Somehow you managed it.
His eyes were already fixed on yours.
It was something steady and focused to look at like he was trying to carry some of the panic for you..
"You don't know that's going to happen."
You shook your head violently.
"They wouldn't tell me anything."
"I know."
"They said surgery."
"I know."
Your breathing hitched again.
Steve swallowed hard.
You could tell he was scared too.
Not just of your mother. But of this. Of watching you fall apart and not knowing how to stop it.
But he stayed anyway.
"They said she's alive."
Your face crumpled. "Barely."
The word slipped out before you could stop it, sounding distant even to your own ears.
"You don't know that," Steve pleaded, his deep brown eyes fixed on yours as though he could somehow convince you to believe him if he looked hard enough.
Maybe under different circumstances, you would've gotten lost in those eyes. Maybe they would've made your pulse skip for reasons that had nothing to do with panic. But Steve wasn't a saint, and no amount of wishing was going to change the fact that your mom was in the hospital.
"They wouldn't let me see her." you cry out.
"Because they're operating on her."
Another sob escaped you.
Steve glanced around the waiting room before looking back.
Then, very carefully, he reached for your hands. His fingers wrapped around them despite how badly they were shaking. "Listen to me."
You couldn't stop crying.
"I need you to listen."
You nodded weakly.
"They got her here." His grip tightened slightly. "They found the bleeding."
Another breath.
"They got her into surgery."
He paused. "Everything the doctor told us means they're fighting for her."
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “But what if—”
“No.” Steve shook his head, cutting you off before the thought could even finish. In his mind, your mom was still going to pull through, still going to come out of this alive. And somehow, that blind certainty felt like the only thing holding the room together. Holding you together.
His eyes locked onto yours. "We're not doing that."
Your breathing hitched.
"Not yet."
The firmness in his voice surprised even you. Steve had always been sarcastic. Playful. The last person who seemed built for moments like this. But right now there wasn't a trace of that. Just someone trying desperately to hold you together.
"We don't know what's going to happen."
His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "So we're not saying goodbye to her in our heads before she's even out of surgery."
That finally made something inside you crack wider. Because it sounded so much like hope. And hope hurt.
You started crying harder.
Steve immediately stood and pulled you toward him.
For a second you resisted.
Then you gave up.
The moment his arms wrapped around you, whatever control you had left just slipped away. You buried your face into his shoulder and fell apart.
The sobs hit in waves—one after another, heavy and unrelenting. Weeks of stress, months of fear, everything that had built up since moving in, everything you’d refused to let yourself feel. It all came crashing out at once, like your body had finally decided it couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Steve held on tightly with one hand against the back of your head. The other around your shoulders. And every time your breathing became uneven enough to scare him, he just held you a little closer.
"It's okay," he whispered softly.
His voice was quiet.
"I'm here."
Another sob shook through you.
"I'm not going anywhere."
You clung to his jacket. The fabric bunching in your fists. And for the first time since the phone call, you stopped trying to hold yourself together.
Steve stayed exactly where he was. Holding you in the middle of the waiting room. Like he could somehow keep the whole world from collapsing if he just didn't let go.
Steve stayed there until the worst of it passed.
Not because the crying stopped.
It didn't.
But eventually the sobs became quieter. Less violent. The kind that left your chest aching every time you inhaled.
The waiting room around you slowly came back into focus.
The lights.
The distant voices.
The sound of someone rolling a cart somewhere down the hall.
You were still holding onto Steve's jacket.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
His hand remained on your back, moving in slow circles.
Not trying to fix anything.
Just there.
- -
The clock on the wall ticked forward.
Another ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Every time a doctor appeared, your heart jumped into your throat. Every time they walked past without stopping, it dropped again.
Steve never left.
Not for food. Not for water. Not even when a nearby nurse watching offered directions to the cafeteria.
Eventually you noticed.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, the words coming out softer than you meant them to. Part of you meant it—at least on the surface. The idea of being alone right now made your chest tighten, but you didn’t want to feel like a weight he had to carry.
You pulled back just enough to look away, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Steve.”
Steve looked at you like you’d just said something completely absurd, almost offended that you could even think it. “First of all,” he said, firm but not unkind, “you are not a burden.”
He reached out, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. The touch was so careful it made your chest tighten, a small flicker of something warm cutting through everything else—before you forced yourself back down to earth.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” he added, voice steady. “I’m staying, okay? I would never just leave you here. That’s… that’s terrible.”
You wiped at your eyes. “Steve… you really don’t have to stay.”
“I’m staying.”
“Steve—”
“I’m staying.”
You stared at him for a moment, something caught between disbelief and relief tightening in your chest. You were still trying to push him away, still trying to act like you didn’t need it—but the truth was, you were on the verge of falling apart again.
And as much as you wanted to argue, you were glad he wasn’t listening. Because you needed something solid right now. Something to keep you from completely slipping under.
"As long as you're here, I'm here."
The words landed somewhere deep inside your chest. Before you could respond, movement caught your eye.
A doctor.
The same one from before.
Walking toward you.
Fast.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
Steve was already standing. So were you.
The doctor stopped in front of you.
For the longest second of your life nobody spoke.
Your entire body felt frozen.
Then the doctor removed his surgical cap.
And smiled.
Not a huge smile.
Not celebratory.
But enough.
Enough.
"The surgery went well."
The breath left your lungs all at once.
The world tilted.
You grabbed the back of the chair because suddenly your knees didn't feel reliable.
"She's okay?" you whispered.
The doctor's expression softened.
"She's okay." he repeated. "She lost a lot of blood, and recovery is going to take time," he continued. "But she's out of surgery and stable."
For the first time all night, the word stable didn't sound terrifying.
A sound escaped you.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
Your hands flew to your mouth.
Tears immediately filled your eyes again. Only this time they weren't from fear.
Beside you, Steve actually closed his eyes for a second. Like he'd been holding his breath too.
The doctor nodded.
"She's still unconscious, but once she's moved and monitored, we'll let you see her."
You could barely hear the rest.
Because one thing kept repeating in your head.
She's alive.
She's alive.
She's alive.
And before you even realized what you were doing, you turned and threw your arms around Steve. Hard.
For one startled second he froze. Then his arms wrapped around you automatically. Neither of you said anything. Because after hours of imagining the worst, there weren't words big enough for the relief.
- -
After everything had started to settle, the doctor finally allowed you to visit your mom in her room, where she would be staying to recover.
Steve stayed close behind you the entire time.
When you stepped inside, she was already asleep. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was the only real movement in the room. She looked smaller like this—fragile in a way that made your stomach twist. Bruising marked her face and arms, evidence of how badly she’d been hurt, and it was hard to reconcile it with the person you knew. Your kind, steady mother. The one who always felt untouchable in her gentleness.
But this wasn’t something someone had done to her. It was an accident. A car crash. Just an accident.
Still, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to look at her like this. The only thing reassuring you right now was the steady sound of her heartbeat through the monitor. As long as that monitor kept beeping, you could continue to breathe.
“She’s gonna wake up, and you’ll get to tell her all about our little engagement adventures,” Steve said suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. “And it’ll all go back to normal. You’ll see.”
His voice was softer than before, like he was trying to build a future you could hold onto, even if only for a moment.
“Yeah, I know…” you whispered softly, eyes still fixed on her. “It’s just weird seeing her like this… but she’s okay.” You said it like you were trying to make it true by repeating it, like if you held onto the words long enough they’d start to feel real.
Suddenly, you noticed your mom’s eyes begin to flutter open, and your heart skipped a beat.
She was waking up.
The room seemed to shift with it—everything narrowing down to that single moment as you instinctively leaned forward, breath catching in your throat.
Her lashes trembled, slow and heavy, like it took effort just to lift them. For a second, her gaze was unfocused—lost somewhere between sleep and pain—until it finally settled on you.
And the moment it did, something in her expression changed. Confusion first. Then recognition.
“Hey…” she whispered, her voice rough and fragile, like it hadn’t been used in a while.
Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. You took a step closer before you even realized you were moving.
Her eyes drifted slightly, noticing Steve standing just behind you, and she blinked slowly, like she was trying to piece everything together. “Am I…” she started, then stopped, swallowing carefully. “Am I in the hospital?”
Steve stayed quiet, giving you the space.
You nodded quickly, even though your throat felt tight. “Yeah,” you managed. “You’re in the hospital… you were in a car accident.”
The words sounded too sharp in the quiet room, too real.
Your mom frowned slightly, like she was trying to process it through fog. She shifted a little, then winced—immediately stopping as pain caught up with her body.
“Hey—don’t move,” you said quickly, stepping closer to the bed. Your voice softened without you meaning it to. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just… just rest.”
Her eyes stayed on you, searching your face like she was trying to make sure you were really there. And then, barely above a whisper, she said your name. The sound of her saying your name hit you harder than you expected.
For a second, you couldn’t speak.
Steve shifted slightly behind you, still quiet, giving you space without leaving your side. The room felt smaller somehow, like everything outside this moment didn’t exist anymore.
Your mom’s hand moved a little on the blanket—slow, careful, like even that much effort took everything she had.
“You’re here,” she murmured, more like a statement than a question.
You nodded again, quickly this time, stepping closer until you were right at her bedside. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Her eyes shifted past you again, landing on Steve standing a step behind. There was a pause—brief, confused.
Then her brow lifted slightly. “What is he doing here?” she asked, voice still weak but carrying a faint edge of teasing underneath it, like she was trying to make sense of him through the fog.
“Did you bring him… all the way here?”
It wasn’t sharp. More like she was half-aware, half-amused, even in pain.
Your chest tightened, but not in the same way as before—this time it was almost grounding.
You shook your head quickly, leaning in closer to her bedside. “No, mommy—no, it’s okay,” you said softly, squeezing her hand gently. “Steve’s been helping me. He stayed with me… you scared me, you know.”
Your voice cracked slightly at the end, the truth slipping through no matter how hard you tried to keep it steady.
Behind you, Steve didn’t interrupt. He just stood there quietly, steady as ever, like he understood exactly what his place was in the room.
Your mom’s expression softened immediately at your words.
“Helping you?” she repeated slowly, as if testing it out. Then her gaze flicked back to Steve again, a little more focused now, though still dulled by exhaustion. “Well… that’s unexpected.”
There was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, like she was trying to tease you but didn’t quite have the strength to fully pull it off.
“I leave you alone for one moment and you start collecting bodyguards,” she murmured, then winced slightly at her own attempt at humor.
Your breath caught somewhere between relief and a shaky laugh you didn’t fully manage. “Mom…” you whispered, leaning closer, your fingers still holding hers. “Don’t joke. You really scared me.”
Her eyes softened again at that, the teasing fading.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, a little more serious now. “I didn’t mean to.”
Steve stayed just behind you, still giving you space, but his presence didn’t feel distant anymore—more like something steady holding the room together while everything else felt fragile.
Her expression changed slowly—like something in her mind had shifted, a thought surfacing through the haze of medication and exhaustion.
At first it was subtle. A small crease between her brows. Her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at you more carefully, as if she was suddenly seeing you in a different context.
Then her hand tightened around yours.
“No…” she whispered.
Your stomach dipped.
“Don’t do it.”
You blinked, confused. “Do what?”
Her gaze sharpened just a little, urgency breaking through the weakness in her voice.
“Don’t marry him,” she said, a little firmer this time. “You can’t, Y/n.”
The words landed wrong in the quiet room.
You froze. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
Her breathing quickened slightly, and she shook her head as much as she could without hurting herself.
“You’re so young,” she said, like it was suddenly obvious, like it had always been obvious and she couldn’t believe she’d ever allowed otherwise. “You shouldn’t be worrying about any of that—about houses, bills, any of it. This is all my fault.”
Her eyes searched yours, urgent now, almost pleading despite her condition.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to that,” she added quietly. “I shouldn’t have put that on you.”
You let out a slow, shaky breath, glancing down as her words hung in the air between you.
Of course you didn’t want it. You were eighteen—you weren’t ready for any of this, let alone marrying someone you barely knew just because of money or expectations. You’d never imagined your life like this, never wanted it to feel like a transaction you couldn’t step out of.
But that wasn’t the reality you were standing in.
Not anymore.
Your mom’s accident changed everything. The hospital bills alone were already a weight you could feel pressing down on you, and there was no version of the future where things suddenly got easier. No safety net waiting to catch you if you said no.
And worse than that—you’d already signed the papers with the Harringtons.
There wasn’t really a way back from that. You signed a real contract.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your chest tightened. “I don’t want to,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself more than her. “I never did.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around hers.
“But I already signed,” you added after a beat, softer now. “And with everything going on now… we need it, mom. I don’t see another way.”
The words tasted wrong, but they were still true.
Behind you, Steve shifted slightly, like he’d heard every word but was choosing not to interrupt—just standing there, steady, as if he was trying not to make the room any heavier than it already was.
Your mom stared at you for a long moment, like she was trying to push through the fog in her head and find a version of reality where what you were saying wasn’t true.
“No,” she said again, quieter this time, but more certain. “No, there’s always another way.”
Her grip on your hand tightened, weak but desperate in its intent.
“You don’t fix one problem by giving up your life,” she continued, voice trembling slightly with strain. “That’s not… that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
You shook your head before you even realized you were doing it. “Mom, please—”
But she wasn’t finished.
Her eyes flicked toward Steve again, then back to you, softer now but still urgent.
“I don’t care what agreements were made,” she said. “You’re my daughter. You don’t owe anyone your future because I got hurt.”
A pause. Her breath hitched slightly, pain flashing across her face before she forced herself to continue.
“And I don’t want you trapped,” she added, almost whispering now. “Not for me. Not for bills. Not for anything.”
The room felt too small again, like everything was closing in.
You stood there for a second, caught between everything she was saying and everything you already knew.
Because none of it was wrong.
But none of it changed anything either.
Your throat tightened as you looked down at her hand still holding yours, fragile and warm despite everything she’d just said.
“I know,” you whispered finally. “I know you don’t want that for me.”
Your voice cracked a little, and you hated that it did.
“But it’s already done, mom.”
The words came out quieter this time, heavier.
“I signed it. And they… they’re helping us. With the hospital, with everything. If I back out now, I don’t even know what happens to us.”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her eyes again even though it hurt.
“I didn’t do it because I wanted to,” you added. “I did it because I didn’t see another choice.”
Behind you, Steve’s presence felt even quieter now—like he was trying not to shift the weight of the moment any more than it already was.
Your mom’s expression faltered, like your words had physically hit her.
For a moment, your mom didn’t say anything.
The frustration in her face didn’t disappear, but it softened—like it had nowhere left to go but into helplessness. Her eyes shone a little brighter now, not from strength, but from emotion she didn’t have the energy to fully hold back.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
Her hand stayed wrapped around yours, weaker now but still refusing to let go.
“I hate that you felt like you had to choose that,” she added, voice rough. “I hate that I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
You shook your head immediately.
“Mom, don’t—”
But she kept going, slower this time, each word careful like it cost her something.
“You are not a solution to anything,” she said. “You’re not… something to be traded or fixed.”
A pause. Her gaze flicked up to you again, steadying just slightly.
“I don’t care what you signed,” she added, firmer now in spite of the exhaustion. “We will figure something else out. Together.”
The room went quiet after that, the words hanging there like something fragile but real.
Your mom’s hand stayed in yours, even as her strength seemed to fade a little more with every breath.
“I mean it,” she whispered, softer now. “We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how yet… but not like this.”
Your chest tightened, and for once you didn’t argue back—you couldn’t. Not because you agreed, but because hearing her say it made something in you crack in a different way.
Steve shifted slightly behind you, stepping a little closer—not interrupting, just there.
Your mom’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to you.
“And you,” she added faintly, a tired edge of humor returning for just a second, “stop carrying everything alone. I raised you better than that.”
A shaky breath left you that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.
You squeezed her hand. “I missed you,” you admitted quietly, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.
Her expression softened completely at that.
“I’m right here,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time since stepping into the hospital room, you let yourself believe—not that everything was okay—but that you weren’t completely alone in it.
*.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.*