Chapter 2: Breathing Lessons
Something's burning.
Wait. No. That's just my brain mixing up memories again.
I'm staring at boring hospital ceiling tiles. The smell here is all antiseptic and sadness, but somehow my lungs keep thinking "smoke."
My throat feels like I swallowed glass.
The door opens. Woman in scrubs walks in with a tablet.
"Good afternoon, Paige. I'm Dr. Martinez, pulmonology."
She sits down. Her face already tells me this isn't gonna be the "you're totally fine, go home" conversation I was hoping for.
"Good news first—you'll recover."
"Not-so-good news? You'll likely have chronic respiratory issues. Asthma, reduced lung capacity. You'll need to avoid strenuous activities for a while."
"How long is 'a while'?"
"Could be months. Could be longer."
The nurse shows up with paperwork. "Insurance information?"
I automatically say "Kelly family," then pause.
Should I still be using that name?
Dr. Martinez leaves. I'm alone with beeping machines and my thoughts.
Mom and Dad show up at three. They stay exactly thirty-two minutes. I know because I'm watching the clock.
Most of those thirty-two minutes? They're talking about Sierra.
"Poor Sierra barely slept last night." Mom sits down but keeps her purse on her lap like she's ready to bolt. "She keeps asking if the house is really safe now."
I barely slept either, but okay.
Dad's pacing by the window. "We're thinking of getting her some counseling. First week in a new family and then this..."
When I mention the breathing problems, Mom gives me this absent pat on the hand. "Oh honey, you've always been strong. You'll be fine."
Always been strong. Like being strong is some superpower that magically heals lungs.
"Insurance adjuster's coming tomorrow," Dad says. "Damage looks pretty extensive. We might need to stay in a hotel for a few weeks."
"We?" I ask.
Pause. Just a split second, but I catch it.
"Obviously you'll need somewhere to recover," Mom says quickly. "We'll figure it out."
Second visit hits different.
Sierra and Ryan show up in the afternoon. Sierra's scrolling through her phone the entire time, looking like she'd rather be literally anywhere else.
Ryan tries normal conversation. "So when can you come home?"
Sierra looks up from her phone. "Actually, I wanted to ask..." She glances toward the door like she's making sure Mom and Dad aren't listening. "Could I maybe use your car while you're recovering? I don't have transportation yet."
The audacity literally takes my breath away. Which, considering my current lung situation, is not great.
She wants my car. I'm lying in a hospital bed with smoke-damaged lungs, and she wants my car.
"I mean, you won't be driving for a while, right? And I need to get to my new job and stuff."
I stare at her. This girl who's known me for exactly one week is asking to borrow my car like we're old friends.
"I'll think about it," I manage.
Mom's voice drifts in from the hallway where she's on the phone with Dad. "Yes, I think Sierra using Paige's car temporarily makes sense."
Temporarily. Because nothing about Sierra is supposed to be permanent, right?
Drew shows up around seven with gas station flowers and major uncomfortable vibes.
"Hey, so... how are you feeling?"
He's looking at the window instead of me.
"Like I inhaled a campfire. Drew, about what you said to the firefighter..."
His whole body tenses up. "I was in shock, Paige. People say things when they're scared."
"But did you mean it? About the real family?"
Silence stretches so long I can hear someone's IV dripping next door.
Finally: "I think we both need some time to process everything that's happened. The fire, the DNA thing... it's all very overwhelming."
Processing. He needs time to process whether his girlfriend is worth keeping now that she's not technically part of the family he's been living with for two years.
He doesn't call me "babe." Doesn't say he misses me. When he mentions weekend plans, it's "I'm hanging out with the guys." No invitation. No "when you get out of here, we should..."
When I say "I miss you," he goes, "Yeah, this whole situation is hard on everyone."
Everyone. Not me specifically. Everyone.
At the door, he stops like he wants to say something else. For a second, I think maybe he'll remember that he loves me. That we've been together for two years. That this doesn't have to change everything.
"Take care, okay?"
Take care. Like I'm someone he used to know.
After visiting hours, I'm scrolling Instagram because apparently I hate myself.
Sierra posted a story: "Settling into my new room! 🏠❤️"
The photo shows my old favorite corner. My window seat where I used to read. Where I set up my easel during my art phase last year. She's replaced my fairy lights with some boho tapestry and added plants I've never seen.
Comments are exactly what you'd expect:
"So happy you found your real family!"
"Living your best life!"
Even my Instagram followers know I'm the substitute.
I try calling Mom. Voicemail.
Dad's line goes straight to busy.
Finally reach Ryan. There's tons of background noise.
"Sorry sis, we're at Target helping Sierra buy stuff for her room. Can I call you back?"
He doesn't call back.
Next morning, reality gets real.
Hospital billing needs someone to sign my discharge papers. "Family member or guardian," the social worker explains.
I'm sitting here realizing I don't actually know if I'm still covered under the Kelly family insurance. Like, what if the DNA results changed something official? What if I'm not technically their responsibility anymore?
If I'm not legally family, who signs? Sierra?
Night nurse Jennifer comes in for rounds. She notices I'm the only patient on the floor without someone staying overnight.
"Your family dynamics sure are complicated. Most families would have someone here 24/7 after something like this."
"They're busy adjusting to... changes."
"Well, you know, sometimes when families go through big changes, people find out they have more family than they thought. Have you ever looked into your biological family?"
And just like that, something clicks.
Biological family.
Sierra got found. She got welcomed home with open arms. Got a family ready to integrate her into their lives. Give her a room, buy her stuff, ask how she's feeling.
*Somewhere out there, there are people who have been missing their daughter for eighteen years. People who would run into a burning building and save me first. *
People who've been waiting for me to come home.
I stare at those ceiling tiles. For the first time since this whole mess started, I don't feel like I'm losing something.
Maybe I don't need to prove I belong here. Maybe I need to find where I actually belong.
The monitor beeps beside me. I can breathe a little easier.
Tomorrow, I'm gonna start looking for my real family.