“How many?”
“Fifteen.”
James exhaled.
Suddenly, several details made sense: the deliberate bandaging, the limited damage to surrounding healthy tissue, and the fact that after five days in such brutal conditions, Sarah still had a viable leg.
But James immediately made one thing clear to the team.
“What she did was an extreme survival measure in a life-threatening emergency. That does not mean anyone should ever try this on their own. In a hospital, this kind of treatment uses specially prepared medical-grade larvae under professional supervision.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
She did not care whether anyone thought she had been brave.
She only wanted one answer.
“My baby?”
An obstetrician arrived minutes later.
They started IV fluids, monitored Sarah’s vital signs, and performed an ultrasound.
Sarah watched the doctor’s face carefully.
“Please tell me the truth.”
The obstetrician smiled.
“The heartbeat is strong.”
Sarah let out a broken sob.
“The baby is okay?”
“The baby is exhausted, just like you. But there is movement, the heartbeat is steady, and right now we don’t see anything that would require us to end the pregnancy.”
Sarah covered her face.
Five days without allowing herself to cry.
Five days counting every sip of water.
Every change in the injury.
Every small movement from her baby.
And those few words finally broke through everything.
“Thank you.”
James began proper surgical cleaning and treatment of the wound. Some of the damaged tissue was already surprisingly clear, but they still needed to evaluate the depth, the edges, and any remaining infection.
Then came antibiotics.
Fluids.
Close obstetric observation.
Hours later, Sarah woke and saw James sitting near the window.
“My leg?” she asked.
“You’re keeping it.”
Sarah gave a weak smile.
“Very generous of you.”
James laughed quietly.
“You’ll need rehabilitation and several weeks of wound care, but I see no reason to think about amputation.”
She rested her head against the pillow.
“So it worked.”
“It helped you buy time,” he corrected. “A remarkable amount of time. But you were also incredibly lucky.”
“In emergency medicine, you learn that knowledge and luck often have to work together.”
James studied her for a moment.
“There was something else that caught my attention.”
“What?”
“The bandage.”
Sarah frowned.
“What about it?”
“It was placed with medical reasoning. Even while dehydrated and feverish, your hands kept working as though you were treating another patient.”
Sarah looked down at her fingers.
“Hands remember things we try to forget.”
James understood that she meant more than medicine.
“Were you on your way to see someone?”
“My mother.”
“Is she sick?”
Sarah nodded.
“She had a stroke.”
“Does she live near where they found you?”
“Not far.”
James stood.
“We’ll try to contact her.”
Sarah’s eyes widened.
“No.”
He stopped.
Sarah took a breath.
“Actually… yes. I just don’t know what to say.”
James smiled faintly.
“After being missing for five days, I think ‘I’m alive’ is a good place to start.”
The next day, a nurse placed a phone beside Sarah’s bed.
“We reached Mrs. Collins. She’s with your mother.”
Sarah felt more frightened picking up that phone than she had staring at her own wound in the truck.
She dialed.
Mrs. Collins answered almost immediately.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
Silence.
Then crying.
“Sarah! You impossible girl! You nearly scared us to death!”
Sarah laughed for the first time.
“I’m okay.”
“And the baby?”
“Okay too.”
“Hold on.”
Sarah heard footsteps.
Voices.
Then a long silence.
Finally:
“Sarah?”
She stopped breathing.
Sixteen years.
Her mother’s voice had changed.
Older.
Weaker.
But unmistakably hers.
“Mom.”
Margaret began to cry.
“You’re alive.”
Sarah pressed her lips together.
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Collins said they found you in the mud… hurt…”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you turn around when you saw the road was bad?”
Sarah smiled through her tears.
“Because apparently I’m still stubborn.”
A small sound came through the phone.
Maybe a laugh.
“You got that from me.”
Then neither of them knew what to say.
They had imagined this conversation countless times.
Sometimes they imagined shouting.
Sometimes apologies.
Sometimes silence.
But reality was simpler and harder.
Neither knew how to begin.
Margaret finally spoke.
“I thought maybe you changed your mind about coming.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then I thought something happened.”
Sarah looked at her bandaged thigh.
“You were right.”
Margaret began crying again.
“Don’t say that.”
“Mom…”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
Margaret stayed quiet.
“That last day,” Sarah continued, “I said something terrible. I told you I was already dead to you.”
“I said terrible things too.”
“But I left.”
“And I let sixteen years pass without calling.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“I kept waiting for you to call.”
“So did I.”
For several seconds, all they heard was each other breathing.
Then Margaret murmured:
“Two stubborn fools.”
Sarah laughed through her tears.
“Yes.”
“Sarah…”
“What?”
“Mrs. Collins told me something very strange about your leg.”
Sarah sighed.
“I knew that story would reach town before I did.”
“She said you had… living things in the wound.”
“Larvae.”
Margaret gasped.
“Good Lord.”
“Mom, listen before you have another stroke.”
Sarah explained in simple terms that under desperate circumstances, she had relied on a medical principle she already knew from her work. She explained that she had been trapped, unable to walk, without enough medication, while the infection worsened.
Margaret remained quiet.
Sarah assumed she was horrified.
Then her mother spoke.
