Her knuckles twist together in her lap, knuckles blanching. Anger burns beneath her skin, barely contained. Her posture is rigid with the strain of holding it all in. When her voice breaks the silence again, her fury is palpable.
“Yeah, that prick’s been hurting my sister for years,” Julia snaps, her voice shaking as much from rage as it is from grief. “And now he’s getting out.” She looks up at me with wet eyes. “His brother’s a cop. Every time Sonya called, every time she begged for help, nothing happened. She just stopped calling altogether. She stopped hoping someone would help.”
My jaw tightens, anger rising in me at the injustice of it all. Julia swallows. Her hesitation is palpable in the space between us. Then the words spill out. “He started going after Rose. He used her to maintain his control over my sister.” Her breath hitches. “And when Sonya called his bluff—” Her voice cracks.
The tears come faster now, streaking her face as she wipes them, ashamedly, but unable to stop the flood. “He’s going to take her from me, the second he’s free. And I—” Her voice shakes. “I won’t be able to stop him. There won’t be a damn thingI can do.” She presses her fist against her mouth, and a strangled sob escapes despite herself. “I’m so afraid.”
Before I can answer, an ICU nurse pokes her head out. “We’re ready, Dr. Flores,” she says gently.
I cross the room, crouching until my eyes are level with Rose’s. Her small hand is so tiny in mine, but her grip is firm and resolute in her determination to see this through. “Are you ready to see your mom, Rose?” I ask gently, wanting this for her, but also trying to protect her from what she will see. Is this how she wants to remember her mom? She nods too quickly, too eagerly.
“You’re going to see some things in there,” I continue, lowering my voice so the conversation is meant for our ears only. “Machines making all kinds of sounds, and tubes that look pretty scary. But none of that matters. Your mom can still hear you, even if she can’t answer back. So when you’re with her, you tell her everything you need to. Tell her everything you've always wanted to and never have. Okay?” Her fingers curl tighter around mine, a silent promise, as she takes a deep breath in preparation for what she will bear witness to. She follows me with self-assured steps as we move together. The moment is pivotal, and we can both feel its weight pressing down on us with each stride. Behind us, Dani’s eyes glisten in quiet solidarity. Her hands are clenched by her side in anger for the little girl who has to witness the monstrosities dealt out unjustly on the weak and neglected. She remains a steady pillar of support for Julia, who is already crumbling. Rose moves out of sight as Dani folds her aunt into her arms.
I turn back around, keeping my focus on the little hand in mine, as we walk the length of the unit, fortunately stopping at room five. The sliding door opens with a slow creak, and the air inside feels colder. Sonya lies still in bed. The sound of the inflatable mattress is a contradiction, meant to protect against pressure wounds while resting beneath the map of violencealready inflicted on her body. Bruises in cruel shades of purple, green, and yellow alter her appearance, combined with the swelling throughout, it makes her almost unrecognizable. Her head is shaved and wrapped in thick white bandages. A tube juts out of her mouth, connected to a ventilator that pushes and pulls oxygen into her lungs, giving her a countable number of breaths per minute, rattling against her fractured ribs. IV lines protrude from veins and arteries in her neck and arms, monitoring her blood pressure and carrying the medication that keeps her with us. Rose stiffens beside me because no amount of coaching could have prepared her for this sight. She doesn’t make a sound, but I can feel the shaking of her body, and she processes the scene in front of her.
THIRTY-FIVE
DANI
Ifollow them into the ICU with Julia trailing close behind me. I hang back far enough to give them the space they’ll need, though my chest aches at what’s coming. I watch Vic crouch down, as he tries his best to prepare Rose for what she’ll see. But inside, I can’t help but think,how do you prepare anyone for this? More so, how do you prepare a child?How can you see your mother in that state with fuck all ability to change the outcome? The realization is that there is nothing you can say that will blunt this kind of impact—no kind words. No steady, yet sympathetic tone can shield her from what waits behind that sliding door.
We hang back, giving Rose the privacy she deserves to say whatever her little heart wants to say to her mom. Julia and I watch in silence, but are ready to move quickly should she need us. But she doesn’t. She seems steadier than Vic does in there, as though his presence provides her with the wall she needs to remain upright and strong. And that’s when I see their similarities. As they stand there, I know the two of them have suffered so much abuse in their past. Witnessing trauma at such a young age can alter their perception of the world.
This may be the last time that she sees her mother alive. That thought alone squeezes something in my chest, remembering why I went into this profession in the first place. To give people this moment. The last chance to say their goodbyes. Funerals are for the living, but this—this is the real closure. The time when both are given the chance to say their peace. Sometimes it is in a better situation, but nonetheless, this is the real end.
Vic crouches beside her. His hand is resting gently on her small shoulders as he coaxes her forward. When she hesitates, she looks to him for reassurance. Their eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between them. Vic nods once and then stands to his full height, taking her hand in his. Step by step, he leads forward. Then he leans her closer, guiding her shaking fingers, until they meet with Sonya’s slack palm. Rose leans in, lowering her head, and mouthing words I can’t hear. Whatever she’s saying, she’s pouring her heart into it. Vic nods, along with Rose’s words, which confuses me, but still, I watch on. Then he speaks to Sonya, too. His eyes are sharp as he looks at Rose, making a promise there amongst the three of them.
Finally, he lifts Rose, keeping her steady in his arms, as she presses a kiss to her mother’s bruised cheek. My throat tightens painfully, and I blink hard against the sting of tears. Because there is no way to prepare for this. Each time I do it, it doesn't get any easier. In some situations, such as this one, it is even more challenging to bear witness. No child should ever have to say goodbye like this—a life that’s cut short by the unjust hand of another.
Vic turns, catching my eyes, and motions us over. We enter the room, and I move with Julia to the bedside, where she takes her sister’s hand. Her tears break through the silence of the room, as Rose stands there with her own silent ones flowing down her cheeks. She leans close, whispering apologies, promises, as their shared grief flows in the short distancebetween them. Beside her, Vic still holds onto Rose’s hand, grounding her as she gives her mother’s hand one last squeeze before leading Vic out of the room, letting him know she is done.
Seeing that final touch, Julia and I follow them, leaving the ICU together. I linger a second longer, glancing back, just in time to see Sonya’s blood pressure climbing as it flashes in large red numbers on the monitor. The nurse rushes forward, ushering us quickly out of the unit as the alarms begin to sound. We’ve barely cleared the door when the overhead system crackles. A voice cuts through with its announcement.Code blue. ICU.
People run up the stairs and spill out of the elevators, badging into the locked intensive care unit with proficient speed. As the door opens, we see a blur of blue scrubs surrounding Sonya’s room. The same room that we had stood in only minutes ago. I glance over at Vic. He’s frozen, rooted to the spot. When his eyes catch mine, something flickers as he blinks, bringing him out of his haze. Then he bolts forward, as if he has just remembered who he is, disappearing into the crowd of other medical providers. Minutes feel like eternity, stretching on until we lose track of time, as I stand in the hallway alongside Rose and Julia. None of us speaks. We don’t need to. The muffled flurry of activity behind the door is enough to tell us she is fighting. Whether to stay on earth or leave it all behind is yet to be determined. As more people come and go, I hear the loud, clear instructions being called out. The request for epinephrine administration, feedback on compressions, and closed-loop communication of commands are documented in the medical record. I’ve witnessed this countless times, but never like this, and never in this new role. I feel helpless to ease the burden of the child next to me, who is holding back her sobs, too young to comprehend the events going on, but old enough to understand the gravity of the situation, and terrified enough to know the sadness that will follow the silence soon enough.
The conversation about comfort measures was never finalized, so she remains a full code status. And now it’s done. Every measure is being performed to bring her back, just as they were processing the possibility of letting her go peacefully. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we planned, yet they have a way of coming to the same conclusion.
One by one, staff file out of the ICU. They return to their station, their rounds, their charts. To them, it’s just another part of their lifesaving skills needed for their profession. To them, it’s routine, but to the family sitting beside me, their life is forever altered because of this. The noise of the code fades, leaving only hushed voices and the closing of doors as they exit the unit and floor, waiting for the next crisis.
When Vic finally steps back into the hallway, we don’t need words to let us know what happened there. His face says it all. She’s gone. Rose bolts into his arms. Her cries are raw. Her stuffed toy falls to the floor, forgotten, as she wraps herself around Vic while he tries to comfort her. Julia, who once stood up hopeful when she saw Vic, still holding on, now sinks into the nearest chair, her face buried in her hands. She sobs, her shoulders shake, and all I can do is hand her a fucking box of tissues. Vic gathers Rose close, his arms holding her tightly in reassurance as she releases grief that is much too large for her little body to hold.
I sit beside her and do my best to console Julia. “Maybe she was waiting to say goodbye,” she sobs into her tissue, clutching the box tighter. “She heard that Rose would be okay,” Julia chokes out. “And whatever her daughter said, whatever Dr. Flores said, maybe that was enough for her to finally let go.”
The ICU nurse appears and gently leads Julia away to discuss next steps, as her grief and words remain with me. Silence settles in their absence. I sit alone while Vic and Rose stand together.The girl stares straight ahead with eyes red-rimmed and hollow, seeing far too many things in her young life.
When her father’s name drifts by in Julia’s and the ICU nurse’s nearby conversation, Rose’s body begins to shake. Vic’s jaw tightens, teeth grinding, as he holds back the fury I am all too familiar with. One that I can say matches my own, except I’ve always been better at hiding it than Vic, though that in itself says something, given he has had more years to perfect the art. But I know his tells. I’ve memorized them as surely as I have the lines of his body, the secrets that he hides from the world, as well as the darkest of desires he elicits on my body when we find pleasure in one another.
I stoop and retrieve the rabbit from where it fell by my chair. Its fur is worn, one ear stitched hastily and now forever bent in that crooked tilt, as though it too has weathered some kind of abuse. When I hold it out, Rose finally lifts her eyes to mine. Her small hand reaches for it without a word. Vic meets my eyes and gives me a nod, his hand lying sturdy and firm on her shoulder, offering his support and conveying to me that he won’t let her face this alone.
Vic clears his throat gently, trying not to startle her. “Can you tell me where you live, Rose?” I hear him ask, and she nods almost mechanically.
But her reply makes me want to cry. “Yes,” she says lowly. “I’ve had to tell the cops before, and my mom made me memorize it in case I needed help,” she says without making eye contact. She repeats the address, and Vic carefully listens to it. The matter-of-fact way she says it guts me because she’s not simply repeating an address, she’s repeating a kind of lesson no child should have to learn.
“I don’t want my dad to take me, Vic.” Her small shoulders shake before she looks up at him. Her eyes burn with animosity and her voice with such rage. “I wish he was dead.” The wordshit me like a slap. She’s angry, and I can understand more than I want to, having seen it happen to Vic, I'd still never admit that. “He hurt my mom,” her voice tightens, “and he will hurt me, too.” She says, as if it’s already decided. She pushes her face into the matted fabric of her stuffed rabbit, wiping her tears against it, and trying to put on a brave face.
Vic gently pulls the rabbit away just enough to see her face, which she is using as a protective shield, hiding her emotions. “He’s never going to hurt you again, Rose. I promise you.” She blinks up at him. He begins whispering words of comfort and reassurance about her future to her. And I stand still, listening to it all. “You stay strong, Rose. This moment doesn’t define you, you hear me?” She nods, a little whimper escapes her, as she puts on the face of a soldier, her bravery shining through in the darkest hour. “You can still have the life you want. You can do anything, Rose,” he says, and she nods. “Tell me you understand."
“I understand,” she relays, her voice faint, but unmistakable in her response to his request.
