His soft spot
980 Words
~Zayn's Pov~
My feet pounded against the polished hospital floor the moment the sliding glass doors parted.
Victor stayed close behind, trying to keep up as I pushed through the stream of visitors, nurses, and patients moving in every direction.
The sharp scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mixing with disinfectant and medicine until it settled heavily in my lungs.
Every step made my heartbeat louder.
My phone was still clutched tightly in my hand, my fingers numb around it.
I reached the reception desk, barely catching my breath.
"My mom was brought in here a few minutes ago," I said, the words rushing out between uneven breaths. Sweat rolled down my temples. "Which room is she in?"
The receptionist looked up calmly.
"Your patient's name, please?"
"Mrs. Maurice Meyers."
She nodded and began typing into the computer.
Those few seconds felt endless.
Every click of the keyboard scraped against my nerves.
Finally, she looked back at me.
"Mrs. Maurice Meyers. Room Twenty-Nine."
She hadn't even finished speaking before I was already moving.
I hurried down the long corridor, my eyes darting from one door number to another.
Then I saw it, Room 29.
Two doctors stood outside the room discussing something in hushed voices.
I didn't stop.
One of them reached out as if to block me.
"Sir, please..."
I brushed past him before he could finish.
Victor squeezed in behind me just as I pushed the door open.
The sight inside made my chest tighten.
Mom lay on the hospital bed, her eyes closed, an IV running into her arm.
Her face looked unusually pale against the white pillow, yet she still looked peaceful, almost as though she were only asleep.
It didn't feel real.
Just this morning she had smiled at me, fussed over whether I'd eaten breakfast, and waved me off before I left for work.
Now she was here.
I crossed the room in two quick strides and wrapped my hand around hers.
It was warm.
Thank God.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Turning toward the doctors, I struggled to keep my voice steady.
"What happened to her?"
One of them stepped forward.
"She collapsed while shopping at a mart. Fortunately, a friend who was with her brought her here immediately and helped us contact you."
I nodded without really hearing him.
All I could focus on was my mother's face.
Victor came to stand beside me, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Take it easy," he said quietly. "She's breathing. She's resting. That's a good sign."
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
"Mr. Maurice?"
I looked up.
The older doctor motioned toward the hallway.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with you privately in my office."
Something in his expression made my stomach sink.
Victor noticed it too.
"I'll stay with her," he said softly. "Go. I'll call you if anything changes."
I gave a silent nod before following the doctor down the corridor.
The office was quiet, too quiet.
The doctor walked behind his desk, sat down, and gestured toward the chair opposite him.
I remained standing for a second before lowering myself into it.
"What is it, Doctor?"
He adjusted his glasses and opened a patient file.
"I believe you were aware that your mother has been coming here for more than routine eye examinations."
My brows drew together.
"I know she comes for eye checkups," I replied. " And she has one coming up in few weeks time."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Those weren't the only appointments."
Something cold settled deep inside my chest.
"What are you talking about?"
He folded his hands together.
"During one of her visits, we ran additional tests after noticing some abnormalities."
He paused.
"The results showed that your mother has developing liver cancer."
For a moment, the room stopped moving.
I stared at him.
"What!"
The word escaped before I could stop it.
"That's impossible."
The doctor didn't interrupt.
"My mom isn't sick," I continued, shaking my head. "She hasn't been in pain. She cooked breakfast this morning before I left home."
"I understand why this is difficult to accept," he said gently. "Early-stage liver cancer often develops with few obvious symptoms. That's why many patients don't realize anything is wrong."
His words crashed against me, but none of them stayed long enough to make sense.
I pressed a hand against my chest.
It burned.
It felt as though someone had wrapped iron around my ribs and kept tightening.
"So... what happens now?"
"We're stabilizing her for the moment. Once she's strong enough, she'll be discharged with medication while we discuss treatment options and the next steps."
Treatment. Next steps.
The words sounded painfully small.
"There has to be something else," I muttered.
"There are treatments that may slow the disease or help manage it," the doctor said carefully. "Every case is different, and we'll do everything medically possible."
I shot to my feet.
"No."
My voice cracked.
"You don't get to tell me that's all there is."
He remained silent.
I ran a trembling hand over my face.
"I don't care how much it costs," I said. "Sell me every option you've got. Every treatment. Every specialist. Every surgery. I don't care if I have to empty every account I own."
The doctor met my eyes.
"We'll do everything we can."
It wasn't enough.
Nothing about those words felt enough.
My phone vibrated inside my pocket.
Victor.
I answered immediately.
"Zayn," he said, relief filling his voice. "Your mom's awake."
I didn't wait for another word.
I ended the call and hurried out of the office, my heartbeat thundering louder with every step as I ran back toward Room Twenty-Nine, clinging to the fragile hope that seeing her awake somehow meant I still hadn't run out of time.
- Writer
