Page 30

But still, the way he asked bothered me.
“I understand that, Mrs. Evans. I just wish he had trusted me enough as his assistant to take my word for it.”
We’ve reached a dead end, I know there’s nothing else to say. I just have to deal with it.
Ava returns to the dining area with a drawing of two stick figures holding two bunches of flowers. Mrs. Evans hugs her and thanks her for the picture before quietly leaving.
“Are you ready?” I say in a bright tone, shaking thoughts of thedicktatorout of my head.
Ava doesn’t like the transfusions, but as she grows older, she understands better she needs them to stay healthy.
She was two years old when she was diagnosed with thalassemia. I thought the world was going to end, but the doctors at the local hospital have been nothing short of amazing.
Ava nods her head as she brings her duck plushie tightly to her chest.
“Everything is going to be fine, sweet baby. Then we’ll have all weekend to rest.”
I finally see a small smile on my girl’s face, and I release a breath and smile back.
“We don’t want to be late. Let’s go.”
I grab Ava’s hand, and after I lock the door, we leave for the Tube.
The ride is quiet. I can feel Ava’s anxiety starting to rise. The way her little hands are fidgeting with the duckie’s tale is my signal to help her relax.
I grab her hand and squeeze it twice—our secret signal to do a breathing exercise together. She nods, and I start counting softly.
“One in. Two out. Three in. Four out.”
By the time we finish, I notice she has stopped fidgeting with the duckie.
I sigh in relief.
Even though we’ve gone through this at least once a month since she was two, Ava is still not a big fan of hospitals. I wish we could do these transfusions at home—maybe she would feel more comfortable. But that would cost money, and it’s something I just can’t afford.
The moment we enter the children’s ward, Ava squeezes my hand. I shake hers gently, letting her know I’m not going anywhere.
“Hello there, Ava. We were waiting for you,” Nurse Smith says with a big smile.
Ava hides behind me, peeking out slowly.
“Come on, baby. We have to do this,” I urge as I turn and hold her in my arms.
She buries her face in my neck, and it takes everything in me to not cry. I wish I was the one with this damn disorder instead of my baby. But it’s a genetic disorder, and after many tests, the doctors determined it didn’t come from me. They speculated it must have been passed down by Konstantine.
We’re directed to one of the empty beds in the ward, and Ava lies down, getting comfortable. I remove her shoes, and she playfully wiggles her toes.
I tickle them, making her giggle.
I would do anything in this life, just so my baby wouldn’t have to deal with this.
Nurse Smith arrives with a bag of blood, holding it up for another nurse to confirm the correct blood type—AB positive. The other nurse nods, and she hangs the bag, scans it for verification, then cleans her hands with sanitizer before putting gloves on.
I grab Ava’s hand and start talking with her about our weekend plans, doing my best to distract her.
“There’s the pinch,” Nurse Smith says gently.
Ava winces.