The nurse helped me to get to the bathroom within my hospital room. Not only did she provide assistance to make sure I got there without any mishaps, but she also remains to ensure that I do not accidentally or deliberately hurt myself along the way. Ever since Sunset Shimmer tipped everyone else off that I might be suicidal, I’m never allowed a single moment of privacy, not even in the bathroom.

I enter the bathroom while pulling the IV pole. Once I enter inside, I pause for a moment just to look at and admire myself in my reflection, specifically the fact that I can, once again, control my own body.

With one hand still on the IV pole, the other lifts up in front of me. I wiggle my fingers just to prove to myself that I can do it. After that, I turn my head from side to side as I examine each of my cheeks. I feel giddy at the simple pleasure that my body responds to my mental commands without delay. Normally that is something I take for granted until that awful dream where I couldn't control my body because King Sombra did it instead.

Except . . . in a way . . . he never gave up that control. He's still controlling my body . . . but so am I. We both are. It is a merged control due to our merged consciousness.

“You alright, Miss?” the chubby nurse asks beside me.

I look at her.

It sinks into me how much she looks like Applejack considering her cream-colored skin and white freckles on her cheeks, but the truth is the resemblance stops there. This lady is at least middle age, if not older. She has more weight, and her hair color is different. It's mostly white, but I see faint hints of purple in it, quite likely the color her hair once had more of in youth. In this case, though, her nurse's hat hides most of her hair. Only a tiny bit of it peaks out the front of her forehead.

It feels a little weird to be called “Miss” now. It feels both familiar to me and alien at the same time.

Just like my face.

Looking back at my reflection, I inwardly discern how it feels both familiar and strange simultaneously. The part of me that's still Sombra is convinced that this is not my face. He's convinced that, not only is my gender wrong, but my species entirely. Normally he would feel revolted at this face, but that feeling is empty. It's more like talking about the mere idea of being disgusted rather than actually experiencing it.

It's odd. I feel like a stranger to myself now. The duality splits my mind.

I move myself to the toilet. As I start to lift my gown enough so that my bare butt cheeks can meet the toilet seat, I pause for a brief moment as the nurse asks me if I need any assistance. I shake my head to her to reassure her that I think I'm fine, and I am. I meet this challenge with very little difficulty.

After I sit down, however, my mind wanders. Now that I'm armed with new knowledge of what it's like to be an ancient stallion, I try to recall if being forced to sit down on the toilet is part of that “alien” feeling that pervades my life recently.

The answer that comes back surprises me a bit. While it is true that having a vagina now feels strange, the mere fact I have to sit down to use the toilet is not. I find that odd until I examine my new memories further.

These memories aren't clear to me because the ones from Sombra's past are actually quite distant. He spent most of his time in Equestria in smoke form.

However, before that, when he needed to use the “outhouse” or various other restroom facilities, it occurred to me why being a quadruped is a major factor in this situation. Because their genitals are further from the toilets due to their physiology, males have to sit down in Equestria too. Ponies can stand upright for brief amounts of time if they have to, but it doesn't feel natural to them.

I feel disappointed upon realizing that, yet it's also a little fascinating to dwell upon this sort of new information. I had hoped that I'd be able to draw a little more on what it's like to have a male experience, but it turns out a female experience feels equally weird to me now. I'm no longer comfortable enough in either territory for it to feel natural anymore.

I suspect that will pass in time. I have a lifetime to get used to being me again, and I'm still quite young in this life.

I have over a thousand years of life experience to get used to, yet it also feels like I have to get accustomed to Cozy's extra seventeen years . . . or is it eighteen now?

If my birthday hasn't passed yet while I was unconscious, then I suspect it's coming soon.

Well, I don't know how long this weird “getting used to my own body and life” phase is going to continue. For now, it is just as fascinating as it is disturbing.

I look at the nurse a little timidly while I do my business. For the most part, she is actively avoiding looking at me except during the brief moment I look back at her. When our eyes meet, she seems to non-verbally ask if I need any help. In response, I simply look away. I assume she does too.

When I'm done, she's a little more insistent to provide assistance. Not only does she help me rise, but she wipes my own ass. My face blushes with a bit of embarrassment since I feel like I'm being treated like a baby, but I don't complain. I know she's just doing her job.

“I know. It feels weird not to be independent,” the nurse acknowledges as if she can read my thoughts, but it is likely she ascertains this knowledge because she has to deal with it with others all the time. “That's what happens when you're unwell, Honey, but don't worry. You are here to get well again, and I'm sure you'll be out of here soon.”

I meet her smile as she says to me with a reassuring tone, “And I'm sure you'll regain your voice in no time, too. You'll probably even be singing by the end of the week.”

I sigh as I think, “One could only hope.”

After she helps me out of the bathroom, I notice I have a new visitor in my room, my mother.

I am immediately assailed with the feeling of both ecstatic joy and dread to see her. It is very pleasant to see her again, but I have a strong feeling that what she's going to say will be painful as hell.

Somehow the nurse also notices the sudden tension in the room. Because of it, she decides to excuse herself from the room, correctly assuming that what will happen next is a private family affair.

Before she fully leaves, though, she assures us both that she'll be just down the hallway if either of us need anything from her.

There is that and the cop that is outside, also waiting. Since some things I have done, or might plan to do, have legal concerns, Officer Badges has been assigned to my room for several days now, but only outside of my room.

When the nurse leaves, the cop outside shuts my door after giving us both a brief nod as if to say, “If you need me, I'll be right out here too.”

After the door is shut, that's it. My mother and I are alone together.

I can't say hi to her, so I merely wave hi to her as I make my way back onto my bed. Someone should come along and hook me up to the heart monitor again, but it seems we have this temporary privacy.

“How are you feeling, Dear?” my mother asks me. I notice how she sounds exhausted as she asks me. The tear stains on her cheeks also don't escape my notice.

In response, I gesture to my throat and shake my head no.

“Oh.” Tears rose to my mother's eyes again, quite unlikely for the first time in recent history. “I forgot. You have aphasia right now.” Her face squeezes with pain. “The doctors say there doesn't appear to be anything wrong with your chest and lungs, so the damage isn't coming from there. Most agree that this is either psychological, or it has something to do with the stroke. We can't rule out either of those possibilities, but I'm glad that you're at least awake and aware.” My mother clenches tightly to her skirt as she says, “I was really scared there for a while. I was afraid I was going to lose you.”

Oh man! Here it comes! Here comes the feels!

My mother cries harder as she says, “Then, after Sunset told me that she examined your head, with your permission, of course, she said that you wanted to kill yourself?”

I look away from her. I cannot meet her eyes right now.

“Why, Cozy?” my mother wails sadly. “Where have I gone wrong? How have I failed you so badly that my own child wants to kill herself?”

A sob bursts to my face despite all my efforts to try to choke it down. I knew this was going to hurt, but goddamn! Hearing her blame herself agonizes me.

“Did I not hug you enough? Did I not love you enough? Did I not sing to you enough? Did I not provide for you enough? Did I somehow make you feel unsafe or insecure? Tell me, please!” My mother sobs into her hands. “I must be the worst mother in the world!”

NO! NOOOOO! Damn it, I can't stand this any longer!

I reach out of my bed and grasp one of her hands. I had to lean quite a bit beyond my bed to finally reach her. She doesn't even notice the attempt until I grasp her right hand. She looks back at me with a start while tears fog her glasses.

Feeling desperate to get her to understand, I use my right hand, the opposite of the one grasping at her hand, to point to her. When I do so, I firmly shake my head no.

Then I point at myself and sadly nod yes very slowly.

After that I stare at her, hoping she got the message. Normally she's smart enough to pick up on this easily, but she's being very emotional right now, so I have my doubts.

She is still crying, but she starts to calm down. She sniffs a bit, then asks, “So . . . what you're saying is that it's not my fault, but yours?” she checks.

I nod again, this time a little more firmly.

“I see.” She looks down sadly. “Well . . . the adoption agency warned me that you had some baggage on your shoulders before I adopted you. The thing is, even though I knew that and accepted it, I had hoped that I could ease your burden.”

You have!

Damn it, Mom, don't do this to me! Moreover, don’t do this to yourself! You have been an almost inhumanly perfect mother. Mary Poppins herself couldn't hold a candle next to you.

Instead of you, I'm the one who is at fault, here. I'm responsible for my own mess.

Darn it. I need to find a way to communicate with her.

I think hard on this for a moment, then I brighten with an idea. I look at her and tap her hard repeatedly to get her attention. Once I have it, I let go of her hand and pretend to hold a cellphone in my left hand. I pretend to type on the imaginary cellphone.

“Oh!” my mother exclaims brightly. “Good idea!

“Hold on. Let me get my cellphone.”

My mother lifts up her purse to her lap and sifts through it. While she does so, she says, “Forgive me, but I still haven't gotten a replacement for the one you busted, but if this works, I promise you I'll make replacing it my top priority.”

She finds her phone relatively quickly. After all, my darling mother is very well organized, just like I used to be.

Before handing me the phone, she uses it herself to activate a certain application, then she hands it to me.

“I brought up a notepad application, so anything you type here, I'll be able to see after you type it then show it to me,” my mother mentions.

That is my plan exactly. I snatch up her phone and quickly type a message, but it turns out to be a minor mistake. Because of my haste, I end up typing in some mistakes, and my OCD does not allow that. I probably ended up taking more time having to erase my message and typing it again, this time more carefully and slowly.

When I finally finish, I show her the message.

When she finishes it, I know it says: Please don't blame yourself for what happened to me, Mom. Everything that happened to me is MY fault. You've been nothing but a perfect mother to me. I love you!

Tears rise to her eyes again after she reads that, but this time it is happy tears. She lifts up her glasses to wipe her eyes with a tissue paper while quietly telling me, “Thank you! I love you too, my darling Cozy! My special little girl!”

I flip the cellphone screen back to face me and type another message, then show that one to her.

:: I don't ever want to hear you blaming yourself for what happened to me. You are easily the best thing that ever happened to me. You gave me a HOME, Mom! You picked up a desperate and lonely child and gave her what she really needed, a warm hug and a cozy home.

I show her this message after I finish typing and correcting it.

After reading it, my mother bursts into another round of sobs, but again, I could tell that it is in a good way.

While she tries to emotionally recover from that one, I flip the phone back to me and type the next message.

I have pretty good timing. By the time she's recovered enough to read the next message, I finish a few seconds later.

:: I'm sorry that I lied to you for all these years. The truth is I was angry and bitter this whole time, but not at you. NEVER at you. Instead, my anger was directed at Diamond . . . but perhaps it should have been directed at myself all along.

My mother sniffs at that message, then asks me in concern, “Do you still want to kill yourself, Honey?”

I hesitate after she asks that while I think about it, then I type up the most honest and reassuring answer I could think of. When I finish, I show her the message.

:: Not if it's going to hurt you. I owe you the WORLD, Mom! I am greatly in your debt. If you ask me to never kill myself, then I shall not.

She squints at the message with a frown, then passes the same disapproving look to me as she says, “Owe me? You don't owe me anything, Honey! That is not how love works. It seems you've never understood that.”

She clasps my left hand in both of hers. For as long as she does that, I can't type to her.

Or, at least, it would be considerably more difficult.

It seems, for the moment, she firmly wants my attention, so I give it to her.

“I need you to understand something once and for all,” my mother begins. “Friendship is not like currency. It is not like a video game where we keep track of a 'score' of who owes who what. Instead, it is like an endless flow of a river. I give to you because I feel I have to, and I want to. That's my job as your mother, and it is a duty I proudly assume.

“I need you to understand that you never had to earn my love. Instead, you had it even before we met. You had it when I first beheld your picture in your profile at the adoption center. I choked back a sob the moment I laid eyes upon it. I could instantly tell that this was a child who desperately needed a good home and a loving mother.

“When I saw your picture, everything in my life suddenly gained such clarity! All of a sudden, I instantly understood one of the major purposes of my life. I was put on this earth to adopt you, Cozy! The moment you entered into my life, I felt complete! I hope you felt the same way. I did everything I could to make sure of it.

“So remember this lesson always, my darling Cozy! You don't have to fight so hard to earn my affection because, I'm telling you now, you'll never run out of my love for you in my heart. It is an endless flow. I'll just keep giving over and over and over again because I have to! It's who I am now! You made me this way the moment you walked into my heart. You are stuck in there, Cozy . . . forever!”

My mother shakes my hand fiercely as she begs, “PLEASE understand this! I'm begging you! Don't fight so hard, because you don't need to. All this time, I thought you were just struggling to make me prouder of you, but if you ever doubted my love and feared that I might kick you out because you didn't earn my love enough, then you sadly have mistaken me.”

I smile at her gratefully and lovingly. I didn't know, until now, how much I needed to hear those words.

But, for me to respond, I need both of my hands free, so I look down at my hands clasped between hers then back up to her with a poignant look.

For a few seconds, she is indeed confused, but then she recalls that I can't speak to her except through a text on her phone, so she instantly lets go the moment she realizes that and says, “Oh, sure. Go ahead, Honey. Type what you like.”

I type a message, then show her.

:: It's honestly both. I fought this hard to be a perfectionist both because I feared you'd abandon me if I didn't, like I thought my last parents did, but I also did it to make you proud of me. Winning those contests with my violin, the chess tournaments, then on to Student Council President . . . I did it ALL for your sake. I feared that you'd stop loving me if I didn't do all of these things, and I ALSO wanted you to love me more.

My mother sighs, closes her eyes, shakes her head, then opens her eyes back at me as she says, “Love you more?! That already happens every single day! Sometimes my chest hurts so badly because of the intensity of my love for you.

“I didn't know, until I met you, that a human being was capable of so much love for another human being, but you keep upping the ante every day that I know you. This is another reason why I insist you don't owe me anything. You reward me every day just by being with me and being my precious daughter!”

Oh Mom! I love you so much too!

I push the cellphone aside then give a “Come here,” gesture while opening my arms wide, inviting her in for a hug. She gladly obliges, and in fact continues to hold me for quite some time.

While doing so, she sings.

“You are my sunshiiiiiiiiine, my only sunshiiiine

You make me happyyyyyyyyyy . . . when skies are grayyyyyyyy

You'll never know deeeeeeeeear . . . how much I love yoooooooooou,”

Mom chokes up a bit at the “you” part of the lyrics. She struggles hard with her own emotions in order to press on.

“Please don't taaaaaaaaaaaake . . . my sunshiiiiiiiiiiiiine . . . awaaaaaaaaaaaay.”

The gravity of those words hit me like a truck. I end up sobbing just as hard into her chest, too.

Next Chapter: Chapter Forty Six: Hospital Visit Part 3, My Sister Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 38 Minutes