Page 32

CHAPTER 32

Skye

W e check out of the dump and Uber to the hospital to pick up Maddie. The ride is short and neither of us makes mention of the bathroom incident. I assure an anxious Finn that she’s fine. Like him, I can’t wait to see her.

When we get there, she’s sitting up in bed, watching TV with Kangy stacked against her pillow. There are still a few attached monitors along with an IV taped to her wrist, but the breathing tube in her nose has been removed. She looks back to normal, her rosy cheeks glowing and her bright eyes sparkling. I inwardly sigh with relief.

Her face lights up when she sees us. “Daddy! Scarlet! Yay! You’re here!”

Finn breaks into a big smile. With me beside him, he strides up to her and smacks a kiss on her forehead. “Hey, sunshine. How’re you doing?”

“Great!! Guess what!”

“What?”

“I had Jell-O with whipped cream for breakfast. And chocolate-chip pancakes.”

I raise my brows. So much for a healthy breakfast, but I’m over-the-top thrilled that her appetite is hardy. Before I can utter a word, a nurse enters the room. Likely in her early fifties, plump, and clad in a Minnie Mouse smock.

“Hi, Nurse Andrews!” shouts out Maddie, full of glee.

“Hi, cutie patootie. I have good news for you and your parents.”

She corrects the nurse. “That’s my daddy. But Scarlet’s not my mommy.”

My heart squeezes in my chest and I swallow hard. Despite the ball of anguish that lodges in my throat, the desperate urge to scream out who I really am besieges me. Mustering a small smile to hold back the truth and hide my torment, I inform the nurse that Maddie is homeschooled and that I’m her teacher.

Maddie beams. “Scarlet is the bestest teacher in the whole wide world.”

Recovering, I return the compliment. “And you’re the bestest student a teacher could have.”

And the bestest daughter a mother could have. Unaware of my pain, pride washes over Finn’s face. “So, Nurse, what’s the great news?” he asks as she waddles our way.

“Your daughter had an excellent night. All her vitals are normal. Her doctor greenlit her discharge.”

Maddie cocks her head. “What does that mean, Daddy?”

I answer for him. “It means, sweetie, that you can go home.”

“Yay!”

Our eyes stay on the nurse as she gently removes the hook ups, one by one. Maddie watches too. Before removing the IV, the jovial woman reaches into a pocket and pulls out a Band-Aid. She peels it open and once the IV is out, covers the spot before it bleeds.

Maddie’s face again lights up. “ Coolio! A Madeline Band-Aid!” She sports it proudly. “Can Kangy have one too?”

“Of course, honey,” replies Nurse Andrews, proceeding to give my daughter’s beloved kangaroo the same medical attention.

Finn completes some paperwork as well as reviews Maddie’s new action plan should she have another asthma attack. A few minutes later, Maddie is back in her own pajamas and in a wheelchair, with Kangy on her lap. While she’s squealing with excitement as if it’s a fun amusement park ride, the sight of my little girl in this big chair sends a bone-chilling shiver down my spine. She looks so tiny and vulnerable, and it brings back horrific memories. How many months did I spend in a wheelchair while my battered body mended? Months that added up to years. Years away from my child and husband.

“Scarlet, are you okay?” asks Finn as he wheels Maddie full speed ahead to the entrance of the hospital.

“Yeah,” I murmur, struggling to keep up, cold beads of sweat clustering beneath my tee. My heart palpitating, my breathing strained. A lie. I’m having an anxiety attack.

The truth, the sooner I get out of this hospital the better.