The hospital smells like antiseptic. Which is supposed to, because it’s a hospital. But my brain still picks up on the thought.
I sit outside the emergency ward, my hands clasped so tightly they hurt. My leg won’t stop bouncing. My eyes are fixed on the closed doors like staring hard enough will make them open faster.
Time seems endless. Every second feels like punishment. What if I was too late? What if I didn’t act fast enough?
What if—
The doors swing open.
I shoot to my feet so quickly I almost stumble.
The doctor steps out. And he’s sort of smiling. Though not exactly. Still, his face doesn’t look like he’s come to give bad news.
But my heart doesn’t calm.
“He’s stable.” He says.
The words hit me all at once.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my shoulders sagging slightly. My hands unclasp slowly, fingers trembling.
The moment I saw he had stopped breathing, I thought I’d lost him. But the doctors reassured me, he had a respiratory arrest.
“But...” The doctor continues, and just like that, my heart tightens again. “...his condition is still critical.”
I try to take this in.
“He’ll need to be monitored here. Closely. And we need to move forward with the transplant as soon as possible.”
“How soon?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
“As soon as a donor is available and the financials are settled.”
I nod slowly. “I understand.”
He studies me for a moment, then softens slightly. “Get some rest. You look like you haven’t slept.”
I almost laugh, because I actually haven’t slept.
All night, I’d sat outside the emergency room.
They let me into his hospital room, and the first thing I see is the rise and fall of his chest. Machines beep around him. And his face looks so small and weak.
Nothing like the man who argues with the TV and complains about everything.
I settle in the chair by his bedside. My eyes burn with exhaustion, but I don’t close them. How can I when I almost lost him?
The doctor returns, clipboard in hand.
“We’ll be placing him under observation for now.” He says. “But we need to begin preparations for surgery immediately.”
“And the bill?” I ask.
He hesitates, before he tells me the number. Then it feels like someone just poured ice down my spine.
Because it’s much higher than I thought.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to stay upright. “Alright.”
My phone buzzes for the umpteenth time in my hand. I’d been ignoring the incessant sound, because I hadn’t been in the right headspace to talk to anyone.
I’d called the secretary at work and said I was sick. So I wasn’t expecting so many missed calls from work.
42 to be precise.
My brows knit together, as I see calls from Clarissa, George and even Vicky.
And one from an unknown number.
I step out into the hallway and quickly dial Clarissa back. She picks up almost immediately.
“Sabrina.” With only my name, her tone sounds on edge. And Clarissa is never on edge.
“What happ—”
She interrupts before I can get anything out. “Come to work. Now.”
“What happened?” I ask again.
“You need to be here.” She repeats, lower this time. “Immediately.”
The call ends. I’d gotten used to Clarissa abruptly hanging up on me all the time, but now it annoyed me. Who calls sounding tense, and telling me I need to be there, without an explanation?
I call George, and of course he doesn’t pick up, because he never picks up his phone.
I call Vicky, but she’s on another call, and doesn’t end it to speak to me.
All my colleagues have bad phone etiquette.
The doctor steps out just as I’m putting my phone down.
“Everything alright?” He asks, probably noticing the look on my face.
“Yes.” I say, because I hope everything is alright. “I need to step out for a bit.”
He nods. “You can go. He’s stable for now.”
‘For now.’ I try not to fixate on the words.
I glance back at my grandpa, bound to a hospital bed, and I nod once. “I’ll be back soon.”
Before I head out, I go to the hospital bathroom and I see myself in the mirror. And mirrors don’t lie. I look absolutely terrible.
My hair is a mess. My eyes are slightly red. My clothes are wrinkled. I haven’t bathed, slept nor eaten.
I splash water on my face, rubbing quickly like that can fix how I look. It doesn’t. But it will have to do.
I grab my bag and leave, and from the time I spend on the bus to the office, it all passes in a blur.
Even before I step inside, I can tell the office feels...off. Our usually silent space is so rowdy. The moment I walk in, I hear shouting.
From Vincent.
People are gathered near the lounge, whispering, watching. Everyone has left their post and gathered here.
As I move closer, they begin to shift, making space for me to move. Why are they all looking at me?
I step forward slowly, my eyes scanning the room and they land on Vincent. His blonde hair catches the light as he paces, his voice sharp, cutting through the air.
“I don’t care what your terms are—” He stops abruptly, seeing me.
And he glares even harder at the person he’s shouting at. My gaze follows his line of sight. And lands on the person sitting across from him.
If I were anyone else, I’d admire the way he carries himself. The effortless confidence. The presence that makes people look twice.
I’d think he was handsome. Striking. A man who will make your knees go weak and capture your heart.
But I’m not anyone else.
Because the moment I see his face, all I feel is dread.
Francis Collins is sitting just a few feet away from me.
My body reacts before my mind does. I take one step back. Then another.
No.
No, no, no.
Not like this.
Not now.
Not when I look like this.
Not when everything is already falling apart.
I lower my gaze slightly, and try to merge with the crowd, hoping that he doesn’t notice me. That he doesn’t remember. That I can just turn around and walk away. Pretend I was never here.
I start to pivot, then I hear his deep voice, one I was familiar with seven years ago.
“Well, if it isn’t good old Sabrina.”