Anneliese grants her a small, indulgent smile. “That’s very kind of you,” she says, sitting on the other side of the bed. “And what are you? A princess?”
Lucy considers. “No. I’m just Lucy.”
“That’s better, I think,” Anneliese says, and the sincerity in her voice surprises me. Then she asks, “What happened to your arm?”
Teeth chattering, Lucy tells her everything, the way children do, without filtering for relevance or mercy. The accident, the loud noise. The part where her mom drank too many silver cans of adult drinks. The part where the car went the wrong way, and everything was upside down, and the glass broke, her arm hurt, and everything felt scary.
“She wasn’t supposed to drive,” Lucy says, like she’s reciting a rule she knows by heart. “But she did. And now,” she finishes, adjusting the blanket with her good hand, “Hildy’s my mom, and Faulker and Hank are my best friends.”
That’s it. No drama. No inflection. Just how her world is now.
Anneliese looks at me, her expression unreadable for a long moment. Not accusation. Not approval. Assessment. The mask slips again, only slightly, enough to reveal something like recalibration, then settles back into place.
Hildy stays focused on Lucy, checking her forehead again, smoothing her hair, keeping the moment contained.
“That must have been very frightening,” Anneliese says gently to Lucy.
Lucy nods. “I don’t like loud noises like that.”
“I can understand that,” Anneliese adjusts the blanket around Lucy’s shoulders, careful, respectful. Lucy allows it after a brief inspection of her hand. “You were very brave.”
Lucy accepts this as fact. “I didn’t cry a lot.”
“I’m impressed,” Anneliese says, and she means it.
The room quiets as Lucy’s eyelids start to droop. I shift closer and lower my voice instinctively.
“I’m not going anywhere, Schatz.”
She hums softly and curls her fingers into my sleeve. Her breathing evens out a few moments later, the feverish edge softened by exhaustion.
Anneliese watches until she’s certain Lucy is asleep. Then she straightens and turns to me.
“Once she’s feeling better,” she says calmly, “I’ll be in the living room with Hank and Breanna.”
Not a question. A plan.
“Of course,” I reply.
She glances once more at Lucy, then at Hildy, her gaze holding a fraction longer there. Something unspoken passes between them. Recognition, perhaps. Or simply respect.
“I’ll give you both space,” Anneliese adds, already stepping back toward the door. “No rush.”
She leaves the room quietly, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stay seated beside the bed holding Lucy, realizing how truly fucked up this entire situation is, the timing could not be worse.
“She’s important to you,” Hildy says, moving the blanket and patting the bed.
“She is,” I admit, because there is no use lying.
“I can take it from here.”
“Of course,” I say, laying Lucy down. “But you and I need to have a conversation.”
“We really don’t,” she says, looking down at Lucy.
“Hildy,” she looks up at me. “We do.”
