Page 158 of The Ampersand Effect

They held each other. They healed each other. They loved each other.

The next three days were a blur of bodies.

Grier went to work, checked on Jonah and Molly hourly, and treated her other patients with the same compassion and presence she always did.

She was bolstered by Tobin’s declaration of love. And when she wasn’t channeling her newfound resilience into patient care, she was applying it to Tobin—their bodies instinctively gravitating toward each other every spare moment they could claim.

Maybe it was Tobin’s confession. Maybe it was the looming shadow of her departure for Iceland. Maybe it was the most carnal outlet for her grief over Jonah. Whatever it was, it consumed them both. And Grier gave herself to their lovemaking as readily as she did her patient care. Her body was exhausted, pleasantly sore—the only difference between sex and patient care was the blissful vacuousness her brain found as she toppled over the edge of pleasure again and again.

For a while, Jonah’s condition held steady. Grier’s hope grew incrementally while he remained in a medically-induced coma,unconsciously fighting the infection that should have prevented his surgery altogether.

But then—during a routine position change to prevent bed sores—a nurse noticed his incision was hot, the skin surrounding it reddened with creeping lines. Subsequent labs confirmed the presence of vasculitis, and then gangrene.

Jonah was losing his fight.

On Saturday, Grier stood outside Jonah’s private PICU room.

Inside, she knew Haleigh and Dr. Miles were walking Molly through this final phase—explaining, with as much care as possible, that they’d soon turn off the machines keeping her son alive and let him slip peacefully into the oblivion his body was silently hurtling toward.

She knew they were telling her that the fight was over. That Jonah’s body was succumbing to his cancer. That the infections resulting from the unwarranted surgery expedited his body’s failure and rendered their interventions futile.

Grier heard Molly choke back her grief. Then listened as the acceptance washed over her, transitioning to unrestrained sobs as Haleigh and Dr. Miles left her alone with her son.

Grier had witnessed this moment too many times. She knew there was nothing she could do to ease Molly’s pain.

Still, she stepped into the room one final time to fulfill a promise to Molly that she wouldn’t leave without checking in. But she had also promised she wouldn’t stay.

Molly had asked—specifically—that when the time came, she be left alone with Jonah.

They had brought Micah in yesterday, allowing the brothers time to say goodbye in their own way.

Micah was still too young to fully comprehend the finality of death, but the hospital staff and social workers had spent hours with Molly, gently reinforcing the value of that farewell.Molly had held firm—she didn’t want Micah present when Jonah passed. So, the nursing staff volunteered to spend their off-shift hours with Micah in rotations, keeping him occupied while Molly remained with Jonah until the end.

Grier had had plenty of moments to say her goodbyes. Each time she checked in, she stole another tender moment: a soft brush of his hand, or a whisper of fingers through his overgrown hair. She wanted to remember him as the boy he was, but she couldn’t resist these small, tactile mercies—quiet acts of devotion, trying desperately to imbue in his comatose brain that he was, and always would be, deeply loved.

Now Jonah lay in his bed, his monitors silenced. The only lines still attached to him providing him with enough morphine to ensure he felt no pain.

His angelic beauty was radiant through the halo of hair framing his face. His eyes were closed, deceiving in their peace, as if he would awaken any moment and rattle off another obscure airplane fact. Grier’s heart burst with the depth of her love—for this boy, and for his mother, silently weeping as she lied in the bed with him, spooning him in her arms like she did the day he was born.

No mother should have to hold her child as they die. And yet, here was Molly—cradling her son through his final breaths, wielding a kind of strength Grier couldn’t begin to comprehend.

With a gentle squeeze to Molly’s shoulders, Grier let her know she was there.

Molly opened her eyes—just for a moment—and found Grier’s. Then, she shifted her gaze back to her son. When her eyes closed again and her body began to tremble under Grier’s hand, Grier reached for the blanket at the end of the bed. She pulled it over both of them, shrouding mother and child together one final time.

Without another word, Grier walked out of the room. She didn’t look back. These moments weren’t for her. She didn’t want to intrude any longer.

Grier stopped wiping her eyes while she gathered her things to leave—her tears were flowing freely and they weren’t going to stop.

Maren was waiting outside her door when she walked out. She’d tried to clean her face, but Grier could see the dried streaks of salt on her cheeks. Maren’s eyes exposed her sadness, and the smile she offered Grier was full of love and concern and the endless support of friends too used to providing comfort in these impossible situations.

They had done this before. Too many times. But Jonah… this loss had cleaved something open in all of them. It went deeper.

Grier stepped into Maren’s arms and let her friend hold her while they cried. When their tears slowed, Grier pulled back. She tried to smile, but she knew it fell flat.

Maren reached out, rubbing Grier’s upper arm before giving it a gentle squeeze. “Go home to Tobin, hon. Let her carry you right now. I’ll—” she sniffled, stifling a light sob that cut off the rest of her sentence. She took a steadying breath and squeezed Grier’s arm again, this time more firmly, like she was borrowing strength, “—I’ll let you know…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence.