Chapter 53 Chapter 0053
•CASSANDRA•
I was alone in the small consultation room on the third floor, staring at the lab results glowing on my laptop screen.
The words refused to arrange themselves into something harmless.
The results showed me that there were elevated markers consistent with a possible pediatric brain tumor.
My chest tightened and I couldn't understand why this was happening to my little girl. We had a few bumps, but this one wrecked me.
My hands were trembling. I didn’t notice until the cursor began shaking across the screen. I flattened my palms against the table to steady them, but that didn’t stop the cold spreading up my arms.
My stomach turned. I swallowed hard, but it didn’t help. The room felt too small and the ticking clock on the wall sounded louder than it should have.
I sniffed and wiped my tears when I heard the door open.
"Cass?"
I froze when I heard his voice. I knew I wouldn't be able to hide anything from him, even though I would've wanted to keep things to myself.
He shut the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat felt like it had closed, so I just turned the laptop toward him.
He stepped closer and leaned down to read.
He pulled the chair beside me and sat.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Breathe. These are markers, Cass. That’s all they are right now. We need imaging. An MRI. Maybe further labs. It could be inflammation or a benign cyst. There are a lot of possibilities.”
I shook my head. "Dr. Collins wouldn't have written that report without proper investigation, and you know that. He studied the scans for an entire week before issuing the report."
"And you are a doctor as well, Cassandra," he answered, looking at me. "You will find a way through this. Nothing will happen to Alena."
“What if it’s aggressive?” I whispered. “What if it’s growing fast and we missed it? What if it’s already—”
Dante reached for my hand.
"You've healed a thousand people," he reminded me. "You've healed people I wouldn't have had the grace to help them, but you helped them within a day. So, I know in my heart that Alena will be fine."
I pulled my hand away before I could stop myself.
“Don’t.”
He blinked. “Cass—”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your residents.” My voice sharpened. “This isn’t a case review or a lecture about statistics. This is Alena, and she's not human. Worse, she's immune to my healing abilities.”
"She's immune?" He gasped.
"I've tried a few times to heal her cuts or cold, but it never worked. She—" I paused and sighed. "I can't heal her."
"I'm sure there's a way, Cass," he responded. "I how frustrating this is."
“No, you don’t.” The words came out harsher than I meant, but I couldn’t pull them back. “You don’t know what it feels like to look at your child and suddenly calculate how many birthdays you might lose. You don’t know what it feels like to wonder if every hug is becoming something you’ll have to remember instead of repeat. You don’t know what it’s like to imagine hospital beds and chemo and watching her lose her hair because I can't do anything."
My breath broke.
“You don’t know, Dante. So please stop pretending you do.”
I realized long after his facial expression had faltered that I might have said some insensitive words to him.
“You’re right,” he scoffed. “I don’t have a child.”
He got up from the chair.
“I never claimed I did. But I have loved Alena since the day she was born. I’ve held her through fevers. I’ve read her that ridiculous bunny book so many times I can recite it backward. I’ve been there for every scraped knee and every nightmare. I don’t share her DNA, but don’t tell me I don’t love her like she’s mine.”
My throat tightened.
“And I’m trying to be here for you too,” he added. “But if you don’t want that, I won’t force it.”
He walked toward the door and I hated myself for saying such horrible words when he had been Alena's father throughout all those years.
“Dante—”
He paused, but he didn’t turn around. “I’m going to check on my patients,” he said. “Call me if you need me. Or don’t.”
He walked out the door and closed it behind him.
I stared at the lab results again, but I couldn’t read them anymore. My eyes burned and my chest felt hollow and heavy at the same time.
I had just pushed away the one person who had never walked away from me.
I pressed my hands to my face and let out a shaky breath. For a moment, I couldn’t move. My legs felt weak. I leaned against the desk until the dizziness passed.
Downstairs, Alena was probably sitting in the pediatric ward coloring with the nurses, swinging her feet, and asking when Mommy would be done with her 'work meeting.'
She didn’t know why I had brought her in. She just thought I brought her to work with me.
I then realized I wouldn't be able to be there for my daughter without scaring her with all the crying. I needed Dante, and hurting him felt like a knife being driven into my chest.
I didn't hesitate as I closed my work laptop and walked out of the lab to find Dante.
My heart pounded in my chest as I checked the break room, the cafeteria, and the stairwell but couldn't find him.
Then I realized if he weren't in any of those places or with his patients, he was on the rooftop garden. He always went there when he wanted to catch his breath after a long shift.
He stood at the railing overlooking the city, shoulders tense, hands gripping the metal like he needed something solid to hold onto.
“I’m sorry, Dante," I muttered. "I shouldn't have said all that to you. You've been there for me and Alena since day one. You are her father."
He didn't turn toward me. His face remained rigid as he looked at the highway in the distance.
"I am terrified," I admitted. "I fix people and make them healthy, but I can't do the same with my daughter." My voice broke. "What kind of a mother and doctor would I be if I fail to heal my own child?"
Dante turned and walked toward me. He sighed as he leaned over and kissed my forehead.
"You are a wonderful mother, Cass," he answered. "And we will find a cure for Alena."
"I don't think I can take it," I sobbed. "I don't think I'd be able to watch her undergo all those treatments."
"I will be strong for the both of us," he muttered.