Chapter 7 - WHEN MAYA WOKE UP
Hours later, I sat beside Maya in recovery.
The room was quiet except for the monitor.
Her eyelashes moved first.
Then her fingers.
“Mom?”
“I’m here.”
She looked frightened.
I leaned closer.
“You’re safe.”
The doctor later explained that they had acted quickly enough to address the immediate emergency. The mass would require follow-up and pathology before anyone could tell us exactly what it meant.
But Maya was stable.
That was enough for that night.
I cried in the bathroom where she couldn’t see me.
Then I washed my face and returned.
Robert was standing outside her room.
He had been told to wait.
He looked wrecked.
“Can I see her?”
I looked through the glass.
Maya saw him.
Her expression changed.
Not hatred.
Something worse.
Uncertainty.
I went inside.
“Your dad wants to come in.”
She was quiet.
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
That was the first promise I made differently.
No more telling her to keep peace.
No more asking her to accept an apology before she was ready.
No more treating Robert’s feelings as something our daughter had to manage.
She shook her head.
I returned to the hallway.
“She said no.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“I’m her father.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t keep her from me.”
“I asked her.”
“She’s drugged.”
“She understood the question.”
His anger surfaced again because anger was easier for him than shame.
“You’re enjoying this.”
I stared at him.
“My daughter nearly lost an organ while you were worried about a bill.”
His face crumpled.
“I didn’t know.”
“She told you.”
“I didn’t know it was this.”
“That’s why doctors run tests.”
He leaned against the wall.
For once, he had nothing left.
Then he whispered, “I screwed up.”
It should have felt satisfying.
It didn’t.
Because admitting you ignored the fire does not rebuild the room after it burns.
I walked back inside and closed the door.
May you like
Maya reached for my hand.
I gave it to her.
