Chapter 13 The Question That Matters
The hospital smelled the same as it always did clean in a way that never felt comforting, sharp in a way that settled at the back of Clara’s throat. It was the kind of smell that reminded her body where it was, even before her mind caught up. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she walked beside her mother down the long corridor, their footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.
They didn’t talk much. They rarely did on hospital days.
Clara watched her mother from the corner of her eye, the way she held her shoulders straight, the way her jaw stayed set, like if she loosened even slightly, something inside her might crack. Her mother had always been like this here. Calm on the surface. Steady. Strong enough for both of them.
But Clara knew better.
They stopped in front of a familiar door. The nameplate gleamed under the fluorescent light. Clara exhaled slowly, pressing her palm against her chest as if to quiet the ache there not the one in her lungs, but the one that had been growing steadily for days now.
Amsterdam.
Her mother knocked once before opening the door.
The doctor greeted them with a polite smile, the kind Clara had seen too many times professional, kind, but guarded. He gestured for them to sit, his movements careful, deliberate. Clara settled into the chair opposite him, the vinyl cold beneath her palms. Her mother took the seat beside her, close enough that their knees nearly touched.
For a moment, it was just the rustle of papers and the faint hum of medical equipment. Clara could feel her heartbeat in her ears.
She didn’t want to lose her nerve.
“Doctor,” Clara said, her voice steady despite everything churning inside her, “there’s something I need to ask you.”
He looked up, meeting her eyes fully now. “Of course, Clara.”
She swallowed. “I’ve been invited to travel. To Amsterdam.”
Her mother stiffened beside her.
The doctor didn’t react immediately. His expression shifted subtly concern threading through his calm. He leaned back slightly, folding his hands together.
“And when were you planning to travel?” he asked.
“I don’t have a date yet,” Clara replied quickly. “I just need to know if it’s… if it’s safe.”
The room felt smaller suddenly. Clara held her breath.
The doctor exhaled slowly, as though choosing his words with care. “Clara,” he began, “traveling especially internationally is not something I would recommend lightly in your condition.”
Her heart dipped, but she stayed quiet.
“You’re managing well right now,” he continued, “but your health is still extremely fragile. Being in an unfamiliar environment means unfamiliar hospitals, unfamiliar doctors, unfamiliar emergency protocols. If something happens…”
“I know the risks,” Clara interrupted softly. “I do.”
He nodded, acknowledging her courage without yielding ground. “Knowing them and facing them are two different things.”
Her mother’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap now.
“I would be going with Peter” Clara added
“Peter?” the doctor responded. “He’s young. He cares deeply about you, that much is obvious. But love alone doesn’t qualify someone to manage medical emergencies. He wouldn’t know what to do if your oxygen levels drop suddenly, or if fluid builds up again. That’s not something we can overlook.”
The words stung, even though Clara knew they weren’t cruel.
“I wouldn’t be alone,” Clara said quickly. “We’ve thought about that.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow slightly. “Oh?”
Clara turned toward her mother then, her pulse racing. “My mom could come with me.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than she expected.
Her mother’s head snapped toward her, eyes widening just slightly enough for Clara to see the shock, the fear, the conflict all colliding at once. For a moment, she looked like she’d forgotten how to speak.
The doctor studied her mother now. “If you were to travel with her,” he said carefully, “it would certainly reduce some risks. But it would still be far from ideal.”
Clara barely heard him.
She was watching her mother.
Her mother’s lips parted, then pressed together again. She looked away, staring at the floor as if it held answers she couldn’t give. Clara’s chest tightened.
“I… I would need to think about that,” her mother finally said, her voice quiet, uncertain. “This isn’t something I can decide right now.”
Clara nodded, forcing herself not to beg. Not here. Not now.
The doctor cleared his throat gently. “I understand the desire to live fully, Clara. Truly, I do. But my responsibility is to your safety. At this moment, I remain skeptical about this trip.”
Skeptical. The word echoed painfully in her mind.
They spoke a little longer about monitoring, about medications, about upcoming appointments but Clara barely registered it. Her thoughts were stuck on one thing, looping endlessly.
Her mother could come with her.
Or she could say no.
When the appointment ended, they stood and thanked the doctor. Clara offered a polite smile she didn’t feel, her legs unsteady as she followed her mother back into the hallway.
The walk out felt longer than the walk in.
Sunlight streamed faintly through the tall windows near the exit, but it didn’t warm her. Clara waited counting steps, heart pounding expecting her mother to say something. Anything.
But her mother remained silent.
Outside, the city noise felt distant, muted. They stopped near the parking lot, the breeze brushing lightly against Clara’s face. She turned to her mother, searching her expression for clues.
“Mom?” she asked softly.
Her mother looked at her then, eyes glossy but controlled, emotions carefully tucked away. She reached out, adjusting the collar of Clara’s jacket the way she used to when Clara was younger.
“We’ll talk later,” she said gently.
Later.
The word settled between them, heavy and unresolved.
As they got into the car, Clara leaned her head against the window, watching the hospital fade into the distance. Her reflection stared back at her hopeful, terrified, waiting.
Silence filled the space between her and her mother, stretching on, unanswered.
And in that silence, Clara wondered if the question that mattered most would ever be answered at all.