Sarah looked down, her eyes full of sorrow.
— “Lily, sweetie, don’t. Don’t put yourself through this again. Those doctors are the best in the country. They know what they’re doing.”
— “But they don’t! Not really,” Lily cried, tears starting to fall. “They didn’t see how Dad kept touching his neck. They didn’t listen!”
Sarah hugged her tightly.
— “I know. But we’re just the cleaning staff here. We can’t interfere. If I cause trouble, I’ll lose this job, and we’ll have nowhere to go.”
Lily went quiet. She pressed her face into her mother’s scrubs, which smelled of industrial lemon cleaner. She realized something terrifying: her mother was afraid. Afraid of losing their livelihood, afraid of her daughter being wrong. That fear was louder than the quiet truth inside Lily’s head.
That evening, the hospital grew quiet. Only one duty nurse remained in Leo’s room, nodding off in front of the monitors. Lily hadn’t gone home. She told her mom she’d forgotten a notebook and hid in a recessed alcove near the fire exit. From there, she could see Leo’s door. She didn’t have a plan, but she couldn’t leave. She couldn’t let this boy slip away like her father did. She couldn’t watch another mother break down like hers had.
The door to the suite cracked open. The Chief of Medicine, a silver-haired man, stepped out. He was on his cell phone, his voice low and defeated.
— “No, colleague. No progress. It’s beyond our current understanding. If there’s no change by morning, we’re going to lose him.”
The door didn’t close all the way. Lily froze. Her heart was in her throat. She could see the edge of the bed and Leo’s pale hand resting on the duvet. Suddenly, the boy coughed—a weak, dry sound. It was that specific cough. The one that sounded like something was obstructing the airway.
The nurse inside stood up, adjusted his pillow, then sat back down and went back to her phone. Lily stood in the shadows, her mind racing. Two feelings fought inside her: a paralyzing fear of being caught and fired, and a sharp, clear certainty. She was the only person in the world who knew what was happening.
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 door and peered inside. The nurse was definitely dozing now, head propped on her hand. On the bed, Leo swallowed again, his face twisting in pain.
Lily made her move. She slipped into the room, her sneakers silent on the linoleum. She held her breath as she approached the bed. Leo looked like a wax figure. She leaned over him, listening to his shallow, labored breathing.
— “Leo,” she whispered, so softly it was barely a breath. “Don’t be scared.”
She didn’t know if he could hear her. She remembered her father pointing to his throat, saying 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. The skin was hot. She felt something move under his jaw—a tiny, rhythmic twitch. Something alive. She nearly gasped. It was right there.
She looked at his face. His eyelids flickered. He was deep in that strange coma, but his body was fighting. She needed to see inside. But how? How could she do it without waking the nurse? And what would she do if she saw it? Scream? Pull it out? The thought made her blood run cold.
She glanced at the nurse’s station. On the table sat a small medical penlight and a sterile tongue depressor. Lily crept over like a cat. Her shadow fell across the nurse, who mumbled something in her sleep. Lily froze, heart hammering. After a few agonizing seconds, the nurse settled. Lily grabbed the light and the depressor.
She returned to the bedside. This was it. The final step. She laid the tools on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on Leo’s forehead.
— “Help me,” she whispered to no one in particular. “Please.”
She picked up the tongue depressor and peeled back the paper…
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