The simplicity of it steals the air from my lungs.
Me:Julian...
Julian:I know you don’t want to owe me this.
Julian:You don’t.
I close my eyes.
Me:This is too much.
There’s a pause long enough that my thoughts start spiralling.
Then...
Julian:I wasn’t asking permission. I was telling you so you wouldn’t be afraid. You will be my wife, and I will take care of your family.
That shouldn’t calm me, but it does. And I hate that it does.
Before I can respond...
“Ms Bennett?” Dr Teller is standing beside me with a tablet in his hands, a look I cannot read on his face.
“Yes,” I say quickly, tucking my phone away like it burned me.
“I wanted to speak with you before the transfer.”
“Ok,” I breathe.
“I’ve reviewed your mother’s file. Extensively,” he says kindly, already nodding.
Warring feelings threatening to overwhelm me, I clamp them down and focus on what is being said.
“I know you’ve been trying to get her on the list for the inpatient autoimmune program,” he continues. “There are criteria. Timing. Space limitations.”
“I know,” I say, the words tumbling out. “I’ve been saving. I was trying to...”
He lifts a hand gently.
“You don’t need to explain,” he says. “Your persistence is why I looked more closely. Her recent collapse changes the urgency. I believe she’s a strong candidate for focused inpatient care.”
Strong candidate.
I press my palm flat against my stomach.
“What does that mean?” I ask quietly. “Really.”
“It means,” he says, “that we can stabilize her. Monitor her flares in a controlled environment. Adjust her medication with daily oversight. It’s not a cure, but it gives her a fighting chance at balance.”
Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
“And the cost?” I whisper, even though I already know the answer.
Dr. Teller hesitates just long enough to confirm everything I’m afraid of.
“Normally,” he says carefully, “it’s prohibitive.”
My knees go weak.
