I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. Scrolling through my Contacts, my thumb hovered overhisname.
After a few moments, I put the phone back into my pocket. No, I couldn’t do that. He didn’t care about Mom and me. He wouldn’t have left us if he did. I couldn’t call Dad, not even if Mom survived. But … I wasn’t sure I had a choice.
Dr. Jackson—the same doctor Mom had had last time—walked out into the waiting room, stuffing a pen into his pocket. “Family of Eden Stevenson?”
I shot up from my chair. “Is she okay? Is she stable? Can I see her?”
The doctor smiled at me and nodded. “Nice to see you again, Mia,” he said. He paused and gulped. “Your mother is in stable conditionfor now. She has a couple more surgeries scheduled for later on this week. But as I told you last time, it was a miracle she recovered so quickly. Many people don’t.” He took a deep breath. “There is a high likelihood that, if she survives, she won’t ever get back to fully functioning like she was again.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I nodded. I had known it. I had known that this was what he’d tell me, but hearing it … felt worse than I’d expected.
What was I going to do? How could I help Mom when I couldn’t even help myself?
“Can I see her?” I asked.
“She’s not conscious now, but you’re welcome to check in on her.” He glanced around the room, noticing the four others with me. “But only one at a time, please.”
I followed him through the hallways and glanced into the room she had been in last time—room 405. The numbers had haunted my dreams too much these past few years. He nodded toward room 418, and I hesitantly stepped into the room.
Mom lay in the bed, her head shaved to the skin, more scars on her scalp. There was a feeding tube in her neck and an oxygen tube in her nose. More tears welled up in my eyes.
I grabbed her hand and intertwined our fingers. “Mom,” I whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear me. “Mom, it’s going to be okay. I promise you that I’m going to do everything I can to get you better.”
And I would do anything I had to do to get her healthier again. I would quit school. I would quit my job. I would dump Mason and find us a studio apartment down in the slums, if I had to. Anything to spend more time with her like we used to.
When the doctor ushered me out, I gave her one last kiss and walked toward the door. And then I closed my eyes, stepped out into the hallway, and dialed Dad’s number. I couldn’t afford any more hospital bills, and I didn’t want us to be in debt forever. The phone rang and rang and rang, and as I was about to hang up, he answered.
“Mia,” he said in a gruff voice. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again.”
My lips quivered at the mere sound of his voice. I wanted to hang up the phone right then and there. Even though all I had for him was anger, I couldn’t hang up. “Dad.”
He chuckled so menacingly at me. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear that again either.”
“Mom’s in the hospital again.”
All his pleasantries went right out the window, and the real him finally showed up. “Why are you calling me? Do you think I give a fuck about your mother? She was nothing but a nag.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I tried to keep my voice quiet, so nobody would hear that I needed help with my finances. It was embarrassing, to say the least. “Dad, please … I can’t afford any more hospital bills. We already lost the house.”
I felt so shitty for calling him. I had known he wouldn’t help me.
“You’re the only person I have who can help me,” I whispered, brushing a stray tear off my cheek. Some nurses walked down the hall, and I leaned against the wall, resting my forehead on it. “Please.”
“No.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked desperately. “I’ll do anything. All I need is a few thousand.” It was a lie. I needed more. Way more. But anything would do right now.
“No,” he said again, his voice stern. “Your mother is not my problem anymore.”
“What about me?” I asked, louder than I’d meant to. “I’m your daughter.” I turned around. When I saw Mason look into the hallway from the waiting room, I quieted my voice. “I’m your daughter, and I’m struggling. Don’t you care about me?”
He stayed silent for a long time, then sighed through his nose. “You’re an adult, Mia.”
“And you’re an asshole,” I said, slamming my already-cracked phone on the ground, shoving my back against the wall, and sliding down it. “Just a fucking asshole.”
CHAPTER18
MIA
