Her head shifts, like she’s listening without lifting her face.
“You’re allowed to sleep,” I say quietly. “I’ll wake you if someone comes out.”
She makes a sound that could be agreement. Could be refusal. It’s too small to tell.
Her fingers loosen.
Her body sags into mine another fraction.
Good.
I listen to her breathing slow by degrees.
I want to pick her up. I want to take her somewhere quiet and dark and make her lie down and close her eyes and let her body stop sprinting in place.
But I know her.
She’d come up swinging.
Not because she wants to fight me. Because she thinks if she stops, everything stops.
So I sit here. I let her lean. I keep my hand on her shoulder. I stay alert for both of us.
And I tell myself, over and over, that the next time those doors open, I’ll handle whatever comes through them.
Because she’s done enough for one lifetime already.
It’s not for hours yet that the doors open again for us. But, finally, they do.
The attending from earlier walks out again, tired eyes, calm posture. Same neutral-friendly voice. But something about the set of her mouth is different this time.
Relief, maybe.
Erica is still tucked into my side, not sleeping anymore, but resting.
The doctor stops in front of us.
“Ms. Crawford?” she says quietly.
Erica jolts like she’s been shocked. Her head lifts off my chest fast, eyes blinking hard, unfocused for a second. Then they lock on the doctor.
“Yes,” Erica says, voice rough from disuse. “Yes. What—”
I keep my hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
The doctor takes a breath, and I track it like a tell.
“Your dad is responding,” she says. “It’s early, but it’s a good sign. He’s improving.”
Erica’s whole body stills.
For half a second, she doesn’t even blink. Like her brain refuses to accept it because it would hurt too much to believe it and have it taken away.
“What does that mean?” she asks, and the words come out small. “Improving how?”
“The blood pressure support is coming down,” the doctor explains, keeping it simple. “He’s still very sick, but the medications we started are doing what we want them to do. The antibiotics are on board. And interventional radiology was able to place a drain.”
Erica’s throat works. I feel it in the way her shoulder shifts under my hand.
