Beneath the Ashes

Bekka Scott

Published by Bekka Scott, 2024.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places,
or events are entirely coincidental.
BENEATH THE ASHES
First edition. December 18, 2024.
Copyright © 2024 Bekka Scott.
ISBN: 979-8227739568
Written by Bekka Scott.

For my feral one. I love you.

The difference between a garden and a graveyard is
only what you choose to put in the ground. —Rudy Francisco

                             Chapter 1

Emma Dawson’s hands moved with a practiced grace, her
fingers deftly adjusting the IV drip as if it were an
extension of her own body. The sterile room hummed with
the incessant beeps of monitors, the rhythmic pulse of
machines keeping time in a space where time often seemed
suspended. To the untrained ear, the sounds might be a
reassurance—a sign of life, of stability—but to Emma, they
were a constant reminder of how fragile that life truly was.
The steady beat of a heart, the rise and fall of lungs, all
hinging on the fine balance she maintained with every
careful adjustment.

She had mastered this delicate dance long ago, her
composure now so deeply ingrained that even the turmoil
churning within her couldn’t break through the surface. To
her patients, she was a beacon of calm, a figure whose steady
hands and soothing presence were as much a part of the
healing process as any medicine. It was her kindness, her
gentle touch, that they loved most—how she managed to
make them feel seen, cared for, even when they were fading.
But the air in the room was thick with more than just
antiseptic. Despair hung in the space between them, invisible
yet suffocating, settling over Emma like a shroud. It clung to
her skin, filled her lungs, weighed her down as she leaned
over the frail man lying in the hospital bed. His body, once
strong and vibrant, was now withering beneath the relentless
assault of age and illness. His skin, pale and paper-thin,
barely seemed to contain the man he once was. His eyes,
once bright with life, now flickered with a dull, muted
resignation.

He looked at her, and in that gaze, Emma saw not fear
but acceptance. Not hope, but the quiet understanding that
his battle was coming to an end. His breaths came slow and
shallow, each one a labored effort, as though even the simple
act of drawing air was too much for his worn-out body to
bear. The inevitability of it weighed on them both, though
neither spoke the words aloud. They didn’t need to. It was
written in the lines of his face, in the way his chest barely
moved under the thin hospital blanket.

Emma felt the familiar ache in her chest, the one that
came when she saw someone slipping away—someone she
could only comfort, not save. She had seen this too many
times to count, yet it never got easier. How could it, when
every patient was someone’s father, mother, sister, or child?
She had learned to keep her emotions at bay, to stay strong
for those who needed her. But inside, the pain of watching
another life fade away left a bruise on her soul that never
fully healed She adjusted the man’s pillow with tender care, her
fingers brushing against his cool skin. “Is that better?” Her
voice, soft and warm, filled the room, offering what little
comfort she could. Her words were a lifeline, even if they
couldn’t change the inevitable.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his lips
twitching in what might have been an attempt at a smile. It
faltered, turning into a grimace of pain before fading back
into weariness. Emma’s heart clenched, but she kept her
expression steady, refusing to let the emotion show. She
couldn’t afford to break. Not here. Not now.
This was her calling—to ease the suffering of others, to
be the constant in a world full of uncertainty. But no matter
how many times she performed this ritual of care, no matter
how many lives she touched, there was always that lingering
feeling of helplessness. The knowledge that she could only do
so much, and sometimes, that wasn’t enough.

Emma checked the machines again, her movements
efficient, automatic. Her mind, though, was far from the task
at hand. It drifted to her own life, to the turmoil waiting
for her outside the hospital walls. The doubts that gnawed
at her, the cracks forming in her marriage, the weight of
responsibilities that threatened to crush her. In here, she was
in control, every action purposeful, every decision clear. Out
there, her life was unraveling, thread by fragile thread.
She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, her hands
steady as always, though her heart was anything but. The
man’s breathing slowed, his body sinking deeper into the
bed, and Emma felt a familiar sense of loss, even before the
end came.

In the sterile, artificial world of the hospital, she could
hold despair at arm’s length, but it always found a way in. It
crept into her thoughts, into her bones, until it was as much
a part of her as the care she gave. And in moments like this,
as she stood at the bedside of a man quietly slipping away,
she wondered how much longer she could carry it without
breaking.

The steady hum of machines and chaos of hurried
footsteps echoed throughout the halls. Doctors and nurses
rushed by, their faces etched with the gravity of
life-and-death decisions. The sound of an approaching
ambulance sent shivers down Emma’s spine, a constant
reminder of the never-ending stream of emergencies that
awaited. The cries of a new baby just born in the Emergency
Department, a reminder of the circle of life. We’re born, we
do our best to live and we die. Everyone has the same story,
some just live better than others.

Amidst the chaotic scene, Emma navigated with a sense
of calm and control, like a seasoned captain steering her ship
through stormy waters. But beneath her composed exterior,
a tempest raged within her. Every step she took felt like
another crack in her carefully constructed armor, and each
breath reminded her of the storm brewing in her personal
life - a storm she could not outrun.

In the break room, Emma sank into a worn chair that
groaned under her weight. She closed her eyes, trying to shut
out the rising tide of thoughts and emotions that threatened
to overwhelm her. Her once steady hands now trembled as
she pressed them against her temples, trying to silence the
voice that haunted her more than any patient’s cries for help.
The relentless question sliced through Emma’s mind like
a jagged knife, bitter and unrelenting. Am I enough? No
matter how many lives she touched, how many souls she
eased, the doubt lingered, gnawing at her insides. She couldn’t 
silence it, even as she buried herself in her work at
the hospital.

But thoughts of her husband Carlos invaded her mind
like a haunting specter. His late nights and growing distance
had become a constant ache in her heart. She longed for his
love, his honesty, but all she received was cold indifference.
And now, it felt like she was asking for the impossible.
His phone calls that ended too quickly, the secretive
glances at his screen - they all screamed betrayal. But instead
of loud fights and slammed doors, their marriage fell apart in
silence. With secrets. 

Blinking away tears, Emma tried to hold herself together.
She was a nurse - she healed others. It was what she did. Yet
the pieces of her life seemed irreparable.
Her fingers traced the cool metal of her wedding ring,
once a sacred symbol of their love, now feeling like a cruel
joke. How could something so small weigh so heavily on
her heart? Biting back helplessness, she turned it around her
finger.

With a deep breath, Emma stood up from the chair and
smoothed out the wrinkles in her uniform as if trying to
smooth out the fractures in her heart. Beyond the door lay
a world that needed her - patients in pain, lives hanging by
a thread. There was always someone worse off than her. And
so she would go on, pushing herself forward.
As she stepped back into the fluorescent-lit hallways of
the hospital, Emma’s expression hardened into one of
practiced professionalism. The hospital swallowed her back
into its rhythm, and she followed without hesitation. But
inside, each step forward felt like it carried her further from
herself, from the life she once knew, from the love she had
freely given but no longer recognized.

Deep down, the question lingered, taunting and
unforgiving. 

Am I enough?