As she adjusted the IV line, Gerald stood.
“I should let you rest.”
Panic flared through me so sharply that it surprised us both.
“Don’t go.”
The words came out before pride could stop them.
Gerald froze.
Then his whole face softened.
“I won’t go far.”
Maria glanced between us, understanding more than she said. “Visiting hours are flexible in this ward for immediate family.”
Gerald looked at me.
The question hung there.
Immediate family.
I had spent my life being told family was blood, obligation, appearance. Family was showing up at Christmas in matching sweaters. Family was smiling through insults. Family was pretending cruelty was concern.
But Gerald had appeared from nowhere and protected my life before he had proof I belonged to him.
I turned to Maria.
“He can stay.”
Gerald sat down again.
And for the first time in my life, someone stayed because I asked.
My mother returned at noon.
I was asleep when she entered, but I woke to the sharp click of her heels.
Some sounds have memories attached to them. My mother’s footsteps were one of them. Growing up, I could tell by the speed of those clicks whether she was angry, disappointed, or about to perform kindness for an audience.
Today, the clicks were quick.
Angry.
I opened my eyes.
Eleanor Crawford stood in the doorway wearing a cream blouse, gold earrings, and the expression of a woman who had been insulted by reality. Behind her hovered my father, Richard, tall and stiff, holding a paper coffee cup as if he wished it were something stronger.
And beside them, one hand on her swollen belly, was Claire.
My sister.
Her hair had been curled. Her nails were painted pale pink. She looked like the cover of a maternity magazine titled My Day Is Being Ruined.
“Holly,” my mother said, voice tight. “You’re awake.”
Gerald stood slowly from the chair beside my bed.
My father saw him and frowned.
Claire looked between us. “Who is that?”
My mother’s mouth thinned.
“No one,” she snapped.
Gerald did not move.
I had never seen my mother afraid before. Not really. I had seen her irritated, embarrassed, furious, offended. But fear? That was new.
It made her look smaller.
“He is not no one,” I said.
My voice was weak, but the room went still.
Mother’s eyes cut to me. “You need rest. We’ll discuss this when you’re thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking clearly enough.”
Claire sighed. “Can we not do this right now? I have guests arriving tomorrow morning, and Mom has been crying all night.”
I looked at her.
“Crying?”
Claire blinked, annoyed. “Yes, Holly. This has been very stressful for everyone.”
A laugh escaped me.
It hurt so badly that tears sprang to my eyes, but I could not stop.
