Until I was satisfied.
6
LUCY
{Two months and ten days ago}
Before the news.
Sunshine pouredin through the small window. You’d think it would brighten the room, making it more cheerful.
Instead, it highlighted all the little things about my life that grated.
Adjustable bed with safety rails.
Portable toilet just in case.
Monitors beeping.
Several tonic bottles I was supposed to finish every day for my health.
Still, Brightfield was miles better than some of the hospitals I’d stayed in as a kid.
“Is this right, Lucy?” A small voice dragged my gaze back to my laptop screen.
I squinted at the grainy video feed as ten-year-old Milo worked through the algebra problem I'd assigned. He washolding up his paper, pencil tip pointing at the problem he’d been doing.
His tiny hospital room in New York looked almost identical to mine—same sterile white walls, same medical equipment humming in the background, same reinforced window offering a view of a world neither of us could touch. The only real difference was that his isolation bubble contained dinosaur-patterned sheets and a collection of action figures, while mine held the accumulated debris of a kid-turned Teen-turned adult who'd been locked away for a million years and counting.
"So, I move the x to this side?" Milo's voice crackled through my speakers, his bald head reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights above his bed.
"Almost," I replied, leaning closer to my screen. "Remember, when you move something across the equals sign, you have to?—"
"Change the operation!" he interrupted, his face lighting up. "Subtraction becomes addition!"
"Exactly. Now, what happens to that negative three when you move it?"
I watched him scribble on his whiteboard, tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration. The tutoring program had been Doc Emerson’s idea—a way to connect isolated patients across different facilities, creating the illusion of normalcy through shared learning. I'd reluctantly agreed, expecting to hate every minute of forced interaction. Instead, I'd discovered that explaining quadratic equations to kids who couldn't leave their rooms gave me something I hadn't realized I was missing:a purpose beyond simply staying alive.
A familiar tightness squeezed my chest mid-explanation. I pressed my palm against my sternum, trying to ease the pressure while Milo continued working through the problem, oblivious to my discomfort. These episodes had been coming more frequently—moments where my lungs seemed to forget theirbasic function, where Earth's atmosphere felt too heavy for my damaged body to process.
I forced a deep breath, then another, keeping my face neutral as I waited for the sensation to pass. Pain was nothing new; acknowledging it would only invite more medical interventions, more tests, more pitying looks from doctors who'd run out of answers years ago.
"Got it!" Milo held up his whiteboard triumphantly. "X equals 12!"
I checked his work, grateful for the distraction. "Perfect. Your arithmetic skills are definitely improving."
"That's 'cause you're a better teacher than the hospital tutor. She treats me like I'm stupid just 'cause I'm sick."
"Being sick doesn't make you stupid," I said, swallowing against the lingering tightness in my chest. "It just means you have to be smarter than everyone else to compensate."
Milo grinned, revealing a gap where his front tooth had recently fallen out. "Mom says I can go back to regular school next year if my numbers stay good."
"That's awesome." I kept my smile firmly in place, ignoring the twist of something that wasn't quite jealousy in my gut. "You'll have to email me about all the normal-kid stuff I'm missing. Like recess. Is recess still a thing?"
"I dunno. I've never been."
The simple admission hit harder than I'd expected. Milo had been diagnosed at four; his isolation was the only life he remembered. At least I had vague memories of elementary school before my condition deteriorated—of swings and hopscotch grids and the feel of wind through my hair.
