FIRST 30 DAYS
419 Words
CHAPTER 10
30 days in London felt like 30 years and 30 minutes at the same time.
30 days of waking up at 6:00 AM for blood draws.
30 days of watching the nurse write numbers on a clipboard and praying they were good numbers.
30 days of counting how many bites of food Chidi took before he pushed the tray away.
30 days of Nurse Eliza saying, “His counts are up today, Miss Cullens.”
And 30 days of him.
Every night.
Sometimes in the morning.
Always texts from the same unknown number.
_How is he?_
_Did he eat?_
_Sleep?_
_You?_
I started replying with photos because words felt too heavy.
Day 7: Photo of Chidi. Bald now. Spider-Man hat on his head. Both thumbs up.
_He’s brave._
_He is._
Day 14: Photo of Chidi eating plantain from the Nigerian shop down the road. Grease on his chin.
_Send more._
Day 21: Photo of me. Same hoodie for 3 days. Dark circles. Eyes red.
_You look tired._
_I’m fine._
_You’re lying._
_...maybe._
_Eat._
Day 30: Video. 12 seconds. Chidi walking by himself to the hospital playroom. No wheelchair.
I sent it without a caption.
_Good._
_Come home soon._
That last line made me drop the phone.
_Home?_
_London is home right now._
_...right._
I didn’t reply.
On day 30 the doctor called me into his office. White walls. Tissues on the desk.
“Miss Cullens,” he said. “The treatment is responding well. His blood work looks better than we expected. We’re optimistic.”
Optimistic.
I hadn’t heard that word in 2 years.
I nodded, thanked him, walked out, and cried in the bathroom for 10 minutes.
Not sad crying. Relief crying. The kind that hurts.
That night Chidi was having a good day. He ate all his dinner.
He looked at me from his bed and asked, “Assumpta?”
“Hm?”
“When is he coming?”
“Who?”
“The man who paid for my medicine.”
“Why?”
“To say thank you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
My phone buzzed on the bedside table.
Unknown number.
_Flight lands 6 AM. Don’t tell him._
My heart stopped.
_What?_
_Surprise._
I stared at the screen until it went black.
He was coming.
To London.
To see us.
Unannounced.
I looked at Chidi. He was already asleep, curled up with the Spider-Man hat.
30 days.
And in 8 hours, Stephen Charles would be here.
I didn’t sleep that night.
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