The nurse opensthe door and gestures us in with a small nod.
The room is dim. Soft beeps and hums fill the air—steady, clinical, low-volume, but constant. I step in behind Rhea and stop cold.
There she is.
Esme.
So small. So still.
She’s lying on the bed, a tiny oxygen cannula taped beneath her nose, her chest rising and falling faster than it should. There’s an IV taped to the back of her hand—her fingers wrapped in gauze and medical tape like a doll’s.
Wires trail from her chest to a bank of machines that pulse and blink and record numbers I don’t understand.
I’ve seen hospital rooms like this before. In TV shows. Movies. Investor presentations. I was even in one for a few days myself, after my accident.
But not like this. Not withherin the bed. Not with my heart in my throat.
I hesitate. Hold back. My knees feeling weak.
But Rhea doesn’t miss a beat.
She crosses the room without hesitation—no sign of the woman who collapsed into my arms an hour ago. Her movements are sure, steady. Her grief hasn't disappeared. It’s just… repurposed.
Refocused.
Her mother instincts have kicked in, full force.
She takes Esme’s hand and speaks softly to her, brushing her forehead with careful fingers.
“Hi, baby. Mama’s here, okay? You’re doing so good.”
Her voice is warm but strong, like she’s coaching Esme through something important.
“You were in the helicopter and you were so brave.”
She reaches in and pushes the hair from Esme’s forehead, and replaces it with a kiss.
“I love you.”
Somehow, she knows what to do to make the side rail go down, and she bends over the bed, and gently lets her head brush Esme’s chest, without putting any weight on her.
All the while, she just keeps talking, some of it so soft I can’t understand.
And then—God.
She starts to sing. In French.
It’s the same song I heard her singing as she put Esme to sleep at home last Friday.
Dodo, l’enfant do,
L’enfant dormira bientôt.
Sleep, child, sleep,
The child will sleep soon.
It’s barely audible above the monitors. Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. She strokes Esme’s temple with the back of her hand as if touch alone can heal her.
