— “I understand. But we’re just the help here, Lily. They won’t listen to us. We can’t interfere, or I’ll lose this job, and we have nowhere else to go.”
Lily went quiet, pressing her face into her mother’s uniform, which smelled of industrial lemon cleaner. She realized something devastating: her mother was afraid. Afraid of losing their livelihood. Afraid of her daughter making a scene. That fear was louder than the quiet truth Lily held inside.
That evening, the hospital grew quiet. Only one night nurse remained at the station near Artie’s room. She was staring at the monitors, her head nodding with fatigue. Lily hadn’t gone home. She told her mom she’d forgotten a notebook in the breakroom, but instead, she hid in a recessed alcove near the fire exit. From there, she had a clear view of Artie’s door.
She waited. She didn’t have a plan, but she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t let this boy slip away forever like her father had. She couldn’t let another mother feel that kind of silence. It was unbearable.
The door opened slightly. The chief of medicine, a silver-haired man, stepped out. He was speaking into his phone, his voice weary and defeated:
— “No, Jim. No progress. It’s outside our wheelhouse. If there’s no change by morning, we’re going to lose him.”
He didn’t pull the door shut all the way. Lily froze, her heart hammering in her throat. She saw the edge of the bed and Artie’s pale hand resting on the duvet. Suddenly, the boy coughed—a weak, dry sound, as if something was obstructing his airway. The nurse inside stood up, adjusted his pillow, then sat back down and went back to her phone.
Lily stood in the shadows, a small knot of nerves. Two feelings fought inside her. The first was sheer terror—fear of being caught, of being yelled at, of her mother suffering the consequences. The second was a sharp, crystalline certainty. She knew. She was the only person in the world who actually knew.
She looked at her small hand, then at the heavy door. The doctors hadn’t helped. Her mother couldn’t help. The nurse was distracted. It was just her.
Lily took a small step forward. Then another. Her legs felt like lead. She reached the gap in the door and peered inside. The nurse was indeed dozing off, her head propped on her hand. Artie lay there, and again, he swallowed hard, his face twisting in pain.
Lily made her move. She slipped into the room, her sneakers silent on the linoleum. She held her breath, moving like a ghost. A floorboard creaked slightly, and she froze. The nurse shifted but didn’t wake.
Lily reached the bedside. Artie looked like he was made of wax. She leaned over him, listening to his shallow, labored breathing.
— “Artie,” she whispered, so softly it was barely a breath. “Don’t be scared.”
She didn’t know if he could hear her. But she had to see. She remembered her dad, right at the end, pointing to his throat. He said it felt like a hair was stuck there. But it wasn’t a hair.
Lily’s hand shook as she reached out, two fingers gently touching the side of his neck, just under the jawline. His skin was hot. She felt something move under the surface—a tiny, rhythmic twitch. Something alive. She gasped, nearly losing her nerve. It was there. Right there.
She looked at his face. His eyelids flickered. He was deep in that unnatural sleep, but his body was fighting. She needed to see inside his mouth. But how? How could she do it without waking the nurse? And what would she do if she saw it? Scream? Pull it out with her bare hands? The thought made her blood run cold.
She glanced at the nurse’s station. On the small side table sat a medical penlight and a sterile tongue depressor in its wrapper. Lily crept toward the table. Her shadow fell across the nurse, who murmured something in her sleep. Lily stood perfectly still for what felt like an hour. The nurse settled back into her nap.
Lily grabbed the light and the depressor. They felt heavy and cold in her hand. She returned to the bed. Now she had to take the final step, the one that felt like the biggest leap of her life…
Comments are closed.