Chapter 103 #21: I Hate That You're Here
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white as I speed through the city streets, David in the passenger seat beside me.
"Turn left at the next light," he says quietly, glancing at his phone's GPS. "It'll shave off a few minutes."
I nod without speaking and make the turn, the hospital coming into view ahead. My mind races with possibilities, each one worse than the last. I brushed Lucy's fever the other night off as a bug, but the fact that the doctor wanted to speak about it in person... it changes everything.
I park in the first spot I see, not caring if it's legal, and we're out of the car before the engine fully stops.
David keeps pace with me as we hurry through the sliding doors into the bright, sterile lobby. The smell of antiseptic hits me immediately, bringing back memories I try to push down. Memories of another hospital visit, another child, another loss that still haunts me every day.
“Slow down,” he says quietly when I take the corner too fast. “We’re not late.”
“I know,” I say, even though my pulse is pounding like we are. “I just want this over with.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I check in at the desk, my voice steady even though my insides twist. "Nora Calder, here for Dr. Fischer. I was told to come immediately.”
The receptionist nods and types something into her computer. "She's expecting you. Take the elevator to the third floor, room 312."
We head up in silence, the elevator feeling too small with David so close. His presence is a comfort I don't want to admit to needing, but right now, with fear clawing at my throat, I'm glad he's here. The doors open, and we find the room quickly. Dr. Fischer is already inside, reviewing charts on her tablet. She sits with glasses perched on her nose and a reassuring smile that does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach.
"Nora, come in," she says, gesturing to the chairs. Her eyes flick to David, and she tilts her head slightly. "And this is?"
"David Reid," I say quickly. "A family friend. He can stay for this, if that's okay."
She nods without question. "Of course. Have a seat."
We sit, and I lean forward, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. "What did the tests show? Is Lucy okay?"
Dr. Fischer sets her tablet down and folds her hands. "The blood work from the ER showed some concerning results. Lucy's bone marrow isn't producing enough blood cells right now. Red cells, white cells, platelets... they're all lower than they should be for a child her age. We're still running more tests to understand exactly why this is happening, but at this stage, it's something we'll need to monitor closely and manage with treatments."
I feel the air leave my lungs. "Manage? What does that mean? Is it serious?"
"It's not uncommon in children, but yes, it's something we take seriously. We might need to look at medications to stimulate production, or transfusions if levels drop too low. We'll do a full workup, definitely more blood tests, perhaps a bone marrow biopsy, to get a clearer picture. For now, keep an eye on her energy levels, especially in case of any bruising or bleeding or fevers. Bring her in immediately if anything changes."
David speaks up, his voice steady. "What could be causing this? Infections? Something genetic?"
Dr. Fischer glances at him, then back to me. "It could be a number of things. Viral infections, autoimmune issues, even environmental factors. Genetics play a role sometimes, which is why family history is important. Nora, has there been anything like this in your family or on the father's side?"
The question hangs there, and I feel David's eyes on me. "No, nothing that I know of."
She nods and makes a note. "We'll schedule the biopsy for next week. In the meantime, try not to worry too much. Kids are resilient, and we're catching this early."
Easy for her to say. I stand up, thanking her on autopilot, but my mind is already spinning with worst-case scenarios. David follows me out into the hallway, his hand lightly on my elbow as we walk to the elevator.
"Nora," he says softly once the doors close. "She's going to be okay. The doctor said they caught it early.”
I turn to him, the weight of everything crashing down... the mafia threats, the ledger, now this. It’s all too much.
Tears blur my vision, and before I can stop myself, I step into his arms. He holds me tightly, his chin resting on my head, his hands rubbing slow circles on my back. It's the first real comfort I've felt in days, and I let myself lean into it, just for a moment.
"I can't lose her, David,” I whisper against his shirt. "Not again. I can't go through that again."
"You won't," he murmurs. "I promise you, Nora. Whatever it takes, we'll fix this."
The elevator dings, and we pull apart as we step into the lobby. David insists on driving me home, and I don't argue. I’m quiet the entire ride, my thoughts a whirlwind. David doesn't push for conversation, just keeps one hand on the wheel and the other occasionally reaching over to squeeze mine.
When we pull up to the building, he turns off the engine and looks at me. "Do you want me to come up? Just to make sure you're okay?"
I shake my head. "Vincent might be home. I need to tell him about this alone."
He nods, but his eyes search my face. "Call me if you need anything. Day or night."
"I will." I open the door, but before I get out, he catches my hand. His touch lingers, his fingers tracing a slow path along my palm, sending warmth through me that I haven't felt in so long. It's comforting, reassuring, and something more... something I miss more than I want to admit.
“Nora,” he says softly.
“Yes?”
He looks like he wants to say something else. Like he is standing at the edge of a confession and weighing the cost of stepping forward.
Instead, he drops his hand. “Take care of her.”
I nod. “I always do.”
"Take care of yourself, Nora," he says, his voice low, leaning in to put his forehead on mine.
“I hate that you’re here,” I say quietly. “And I hate that I don’t.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I know.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels thick, charged, like it’s holding its breath. I stay there for a moment, savouring the brief comfort.
David’s head is still pressed against mine, his hand firm at my waist, my fingers twisted in his jacket, when a voice breaks through the moment.
“Nora?”
My eyes still closed and for a heartbeat, no one moves. Then slowly, I detangle from David’s hold to look at my husband. Vincent’s face drains of colour, then floods with something dark and volatile. His jaw tightens so hard I hear his teeth grind.
“What,” he begins very slowly, “the actual fuck, is this?”
“Vincent I–“ I begin, but before I can finish, Vincent reaches into his briefcase brings out a gun, and points it right at David and I.