"Yes." No hesitation.
They loaded him onto the gurney, strapping him down, and I climbed into the ambulance beside him. The doors slammed shut with a metallic finality. He'd drifted—sedated or shock taking over—but I held on, whispering promises that tasted like ash.You're gonna be fine. We'll fix this. I've got you.
But the truth—the cold, suffocating truth—was I didn't know if I could keep them.
***
Saint Francis ER was a sensory assault: fluorescent lights humming like angry insects, antiseptic smell so strong it burned my nose. They wheeled Pops into radiology immediately, leaving me stranded in a plastic waiting room chair.
I texted Cassie with trembling fingers—Pops fell. Bad. At Saint Francis. Need you—and stared at the scuffed linoleum, counting tiles to keep from spiraling.
Cassie arrived forty-five minutes later, breathless and wide-eyed, pulling me into a hug that finally shattered the dam. I cried into her shoulder—ugly, gasping sobs. She held on, murmuring reassurances I couldn't quite hear over the roar in my ears.
An hour dragged by. Then another. Finally, a doctor approached—Dr. Mehta, orthopedic surgeon.
"Ms. Jameson?" She sat across from me. "Your grandfather's stable, but the imaging confirms a complete tear of the medial collateral ligament in his left knee, plus a displaced fracture in the tibial plateau. He needs emergency surgery to repair the ligament and stabilize the bone with pins. Without intervention, he risks permanent mobility loss—potentially wheelchair-bound."
The words landed like gut punches.Surgery. Emergency. Wheelchair-bound.
"When?" My voice sounded far away.
"We can schedule for tomorrow morning, six AM. Recovery will be extensive—eight weeks non-weight-bearing on that leg, then three to six months of intensive physical therapy." She paused. "I see he had a total knee replacement on the same leg two years ago. That complicates things. Healing will be slower."
"But he'll recover? Walk again?"
Dr. Mehta hesitated. "With proper surgical intervention and rigorous rehab, he should regain significant function. But at sixty-eight, with pre-existing damage? Full recovery isn't guaranteed. He'll need round-the-clock care initially. No ranch work for a minimum of three months, possibly longer."
Three months. Regionals were in eight days. Calving season started in six weeks. Feed orders, fence repairs... they didn't pause for broken men.
"What's the cost?" The question scraped out.
"Surgery, anesthesia, two-day hospital stay, initial PT consultations—approximately eighteen thousand without insurance. His Medicare Part B will cover roughly sixty percent, but you're looking at six to seven thousand out-of-pocket, plus ongoing PT costs."
Eighteen thousand.
I had Elise's check—fifteen grand meant for regionals, for boots, for a future. It would cover the immediate surgery. Just barely. But after? PT at $150 per session, meds, lost income from Pops sidelined, ranch hands I'd have to hire...
The math spiraled, crushing, impossible.
"I..." My voice cracked. Cassie's hand found mine, squeezing hard enough to hurt.
"We'll figure it out," she said, fierce and terrified.
Dr. Mehta stood. "I need consent forms signed within two hours. He's awake now if you want to see him. Room 4. Take your time. But Ms. Jameson—this surgery can't wait."
She left, white coat disappearing into the chaos. I sat frozen, head in my hands.
"I can't do this alone," I whispered, the truth finally breaking me. "I thought I could. After Nana died, after Beau left—I told myself I was fine. But this... I don't know if I'm strong enough. And I hate that."
Cassie pulled me close. "You're the strongest person I know, Win. But strong doesn't mean alone. You've got me. Pops is a fighter. And the money... we'll figure it out."
But as I stared at my phone—still silent, Beau's name a ghost in my contacts—I realized the brutal truth.
I'd been lying to myself. Saying I was fine without him. Saying I could survive anything solo.
Maybe surviving wasn't the same as living. Maybe strength wasn't carrying everything alone until you broke.
Maybe, just this once, I needed to admit I was drowning.
