Fern's heart squeezed painfully.
Coral stayed quiet, eyes down, colouring the heart again, even though it was already full. She never spoke much when she felt unsure, and this morning, she was painfully quiet.
"It's beautiful," Fern whispered, brushing a stray curl off her daughter's forehead.
She carefully set the picture aside, smoothing the blanket over Coral's lap. "How's your hand feeling this morning?"
Coral made a face.
"I know, baby." Fern stroked her cheek gently. "We're going to make it all better today."
Any minute now, the doctors were going to come in and talk to her about the surgery.
And there was no Connor beside her while they talked about putting her daughter to sleep and letting a machine breathe for her. There was no hand to hold, no steady shoulder to lean on.No, it was just Fern and the burden of saying yes to something, while every instinct in her body wanted to refuse.
Coral took her paper back and kept drawing, her little arm swaddled in its thick white bandages, now lying stiffly across her lap. She never once complained.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Dr. Jim—a.k.a. Dr. Anil Gopalswami—stepped inside, tucking his pen into his scrub pocket, but as always, his smile was gentle and disarming. His theatre cap had hundreds of tiny colourful frogs on it.
"Morning, Coral," he said softly.
Coral gave him a short, serious nod, gave his cap a look of interest and then went back to drawing, making a tiny swirl of orange inside the sun.
Jim turned to Fern. "I just wanted let you know that the theatre has us scheduled for ten. She's been a good girl, hasn't she?"
Fern nodded, though her throat was clogging with tears.
Jim hesitated before clearing his throat, as if working his way towards saying something. "Mrs. Ashbourne… Fern... your husband is outside."
She looked up.
Jim continued, voice careful. "Safeguarding has reviewed the situation. They've authorised supervised contact. If you'd like him to come in, we can facilitate that. Because we need to go over the consent, and the anaesthetist will be here soon."
Fern lowered her gaze to Coral.
Her daughter didn't speak.She didn't look up.She simply drew another tiny triangle shoe on the stick figure labelled a very wobblyDa, her brow furrowing in deep concentration.
Fern exhaled slowly, maintaining composure.
"Would you like him to come in?" Jim asked tentatively.
Coral didn't answer. She only pressed her crayon harder, colouring the heart again in a frantic, circular motion.
Fern felt something in her chest twist painfully.
She nodded once. She didn’t want to do this alone. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "Please... bring him in."
Jim gave a small, understanding bow of his head and stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.
Inside, Coral continued colouring the same heart, as if trying to fill a space too big for her little hands to fix.
No more than five minutes later, Dr. Jim stepped in quietly, smiling warmly. A silent, exhausted-looking Connor followed him. His eyes swept over Fern before settling on Coral, who looked up, and her face brightened immediately.
"Hi, shortcake," he whispered, his voice not quite steady.
Jim cleared his throat. He'd already been by yesterday to go over the consent forms, explaining the possible complications: infection, scarring, delayed healing. He explained them briefly again before asking if there were any questions. Then the anaesthetist came in with her own list, adding layers Fern had struggled to absorb when she came by yesterday. Words likeairway managementandpossible need for breathing support— words that no parent wanted to hear.
