Chapter 3
1659 Words
My hands don't stop shaking while I drive.
Every red traffic light I come across feels too long, like it's wasting my time. Also, every second that passes by without me getting where I want to feels like it's dragging on purpose.
My daughter - Aaliyah - is in the hospital.
That's what the staff from her school said. And after getting the address form her, I'm currently on my way there.
When I finally get there, I don't even park my car properly. I just stop the car and get out, my heart racing as I rush into the building.
The hospital is too bright, everyone moving around normally like nothing is wrong here. Like my child isn't inside here, probably fighting for her life or something.
"I'm looking for Aaliyah Grace," I say without catching my breath the moment I reach the receptionist's desk.
The receptionist, a lady who appears to be in her early twenties, types something into the system on the desk before looking up at me.
"Emergency case brought in from St. Mary's School?"
Emergency?
My heart sinks into my stomach at the thought, but I steady my voice and nod.
"Where is she?"
"She's in pediatrics," the receptionist replies before pointing down the hallway behind me. "Room 76. A staff member came in with her."
I don't wait to ask where the room is.
I just mutter a "thank you" and grip my purse tighter, then walk down the hallway until I find the room.
Once I push open the door and step in, my heart stops in my throat, my pulse racing at the sight of Aaliyah.
She's lying on the hospital bed, her already small frame looking thinner than she was this morning.
Gosh.
"Aaliyah ..." I rush towards her immediately.
"Mummy," she whispers when she sees me.
I'm at her side instantly.
"I'm here," I say quickly, brushing her hair back. "I'm here, I'm here."
My fingers are shaking on her forehead, and I'm trying so hard not to pull off the IV drip attached to her wrist and pull her into my arms.
"What happened?"
She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, someone clears their throat from behind me, and I turn.
It's one of the school staff.
A teacher I recognize vaguely from pickup days.
"She had an episode during rest time," she explains quickly. "She collapsed. We called emergency services immediately and rushed her here."
"Thank you," I say, voice light. "But are you saying it happened suddenly?" I ask.
She nods. "There was no warning."
I nod back once.
Almost immediately, the door opens, and all our attentions snap to it, just in time to see a man walk in.
He looks like he's in his late sixties, with grey hair and a white coat. Pinned to the coat is a tag that reads 'Dr. Brooks.'
"Good day, Ms. Cross," he greets, a small smile on his face. "Welcome. I've been waiting for you. I'm Aaliyah's doctor."
"Good day," I greet, standing up immediately. "Is she okay?"
"The doctor would actually like to speak to you regarding Aaliyah's health," the teacher says from where she's standing. "You can go. I'll stay with her."
A dreadful feeling takes seat in my stomach immediately. "Is everything okay? Is she-"
"Aaliyah is okay," he reassures me. "But I need to ask you a few questions first."
I hesitate for a second, then nod.
Without another word, I turn and ruffle Aaliyah's hair. After that, I kiss the top of her head before murmuring.
"Mummy will be back soon." I run a finger through her hair. "Wait up for me, okay?"
She nods, and that's all I need.
Once the doctor and I walk to his office, I feel a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, the dread in my stomach intensifying.
I don't feel good about whatever this is.
He gestures for me to sit, but I don't. I stay standing.
"Relax," he says gently. "This is just to understand what we're dealing with."
My brows pull together slightly into a frown. "What exactly are we dealing with?"
He opens a file I suspect belongs to her. "Has she been unusually tired lately?"
"Yes."
"Headaches?"
"Yes."
"Shortness of breath during activity?"
I hesitate. "Sometimes. She says her chest feels funny when she runs."
He writes something down, not looking up yet. "Any fainting episodes?"
My throat tightens, and I swallow past the painful clog.
What is the doctor getting at?
Still, though, I answer. "She has only fainted once. That was a few months ago."
"Dizziness?" he asks, looking up. "Rapid heartbeat?"
"Yes."
A pause follows, and he seems hesitant at first.
Just when I'm about to ask what's wrong, he asks. "Are there any family history of heart conditions?"
"I ..." I pause, think, then, "Not that I know of."
It's a lie. Not a complete lie though.
My response makes Doctor Brooks look up at me properly now. Then, he drops his pen and straightens.
"From what you've described, Ms. Cross, I'm concerned this may be congenital."
My heart drops into my stomach.
"Congenital?" I repeat.
"A structural condition present from birth," he explains. "Often something like a hole in the heart. But I can't confirm that yet."
My hands go still at my sides, my whole body freezing. "Can't confirm?"
"No," he says calmly. "Not without imaging, though. We need an echocardiogram and a few tests tonight."
That word - tests tonight - makes my dread intensify.
So he's saying I'll have to wait overnight to be sure of what's wrong with my daughter?
"So you're saying something is wrong with her heart?" I ask quietly.
He doesn't rush the answer, and that makes it even worse. Instead, he takes a deep breath, still holding my gaze as he replies.
"I'm saying there are signs we need to investigate urgently."
A long stretch of silence follows his words, and only when I sit on the chair opposite him, my knees weak do I realize I've moved.
"Is it serious?"
"It's too early to say," he replies. "But I don't want to wait to find out."
My fists clench on my thigh. "So what are we going to do now?" I ask, tears blurring my vision. "What's going to happen now?"
"We're going to run the tests tonight," he says. "Then we'll know exactly what we're dealing with tomorrow morning."
Tomorrow morning.
All these sound strange to me, even after I nod and stand again.
"Okay," I say, though it doesn't feel like I understand anything at all.
***
They discharge her later that day with strict instructions about follow-ups, monitoring, and not stressing Aaliyah. If possible, the doctor had said, I shouldn't send her to school tomorrow.
And the teacher had understood that before she left.
So now, we're on our way back home, the drive back quiet.
Aaliyah is sleeping in the backseat, though, and every now and then, I find myself looking at her through the rear view mirror, the doctor's words replaying in my mind.
He said whatever might be wrong with her is congenital. That she might've gotten it from birth.
And all I can think of - all my mind can stray to - the more I think of this is Xavier Sterling.
Her father.
Because he used to have a hole in his heart back when we were together, and he avoided undergoing surgery every time it was brought it. Now, I can only wonder if he finally did it within these five years.
At the thought of him - and the biggest secret I've ran away from, myself - my chest tightens, and I cast a glance at Aaliyah's sleeping figure before turning the wheel to drive into our street.
Once I stop the car a few stops to our apartment, I open the door, move around, and carefully lift Aaliyah into my arms again.
She stirs a bit, mumbling something under her breath as her hair tickles my skin before she nuzzles herself into my neck again, her weight a bit light against me.
I hang her school bag on one of my arm and her lunch bag slips slightly as I adjust her properly against my chest.
"Easy," I whisper to myself more than her.
I shut the back passenger door with my free hand.
Tightening my grip around her and her lunch box, I begin to walk towards our house, pushing away any thoughts.
When we get home and I put her in bed, maybe I'll try calling mum and dad for a way out.
I have no idea if they're going to listen to anything I have to say, though. Among all the kids they've given birth to, I've proven to be the most difficult and worse one ever, in mum's words.
Reason for that being my refusal to abort my pregnancy. When I told them I'd carry the child, they'd sent me away, and ever since then, we've not been in contact again.
But right now, I think I need them more than -
My thoughts are broken off the moment I reach the front of my apartment, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of the person standing by my door.
Xavier.
My heart sinks the moment he looks up and our eyes meet, and my grip on Aaliyah tightens instinctively, pulse roaring in my ears.
What does he want from me? And how did he find out about where I live?
A shiver rolls down my spine as his gaze falls on Aaliyah, a strange look flashing in his eyes before it disappears.
When our gazes meet again, his eyes are colder than usual. Harsher, even.
"What are you -"
The words are barely out of my mouth before he slips a hand into his pocket and straightens, before interrupting.
"I need to speak to you."
- Writer
