Lucy’s mother lies pale and fragile in the bed.
Something in me fractures.
I step back and pull out my phone.
I make three calls.
No hesitation.
No negotiation.
Because whatever I thought this arrangement was going to be…
It was never supposed to feel like this.
Now it does, I don't know what to do with it, but I know how to be me, and I can help her.
And then I can go back to feeling like myself again.
Chapter 25 - Lucy
Hospitals have a way of erasing time. Minutes stretch until they don’t feel real anymore, and hours pass without asking permission. Everything becomes measured in sounds instead: the distant beep of machines, the squeak of shoes on linoleum, the rustle of fabric when nurses move past.
Dr. Teller speaks calmly, deliberately, like someone who knows how to choose words when they matter.
I try to focus on him.
I really do.
But Julian is everywhere.
Not physically, he isn’t hovering, but somehow, he’s still present in every corner of the room. Like when the nurses defer without realizing they’re doing it. How things arealready happeningbefore I’ve even finished asking questions.
Dr. Teller explains that tonight’s collapse was likely linked to a severe flare, autoimmune complications layered on exhaustion and dehydration, and possibly cardiac involvement. They won’t know more until the tests are complete. MRI. Blood panels. Monitoring.
Nothing definitive yet.
Which somehow makes it worse.
They come in with a gurney to take my mom for imaging.
I lean down and press my forehead gently to hers. Her skin feels cool. Fragile.
“I love you mom,” I whisper, even though she isn’t awake. “I’ll be right here.”
They wheel her out, and suddenly I don’t know where to stand or what to do next.
A nurse explains that once testing is complete, they’ll be moving my mom to a private room in a specialized unit.
My stomach drops.
“A private room?” I ask. “I... I don’t think... is that covered? She’s been here before, and...”
The nurse smiles kindly. “Your insurance won’t be covering this portion.”
I can feel the panic bubbling up within me.
“I don’t understand,” I say, the panic crawling up my throat. “Why would she be moved if it’s not...”
