Chapter 270: Death

Chapter 270: Death

Lily reached out and took her hand. It was ice cold, like a stone with no warmth left in it.

"Cordelia was such a good girl," Zola's eyes finally went red, tears sliding down her hollow cheeks without a sound. "Five months old, and when the nurses gave her shots she barely cried. She'd just lie there with those big eyes looking up at you... She had the biggest eyes. Just like her dad..."

She stopped suddenly, like something had just hit her. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, why am I even saying all this..."

Lily felt her throat tighten. She squeezed Zola's hand. "Zola, don't apologize. I get it. Anyone would feel this way. How's the surgery going?"

Zola shook her head, tears falling with the movement. "I don't know. I really don't know. The doctor hasn't come out. Nobody's sent any word. Lily, do you think he might... might..." Her voice broke apart before she could finish.

"He won't." Lily's voice came out steadier than she expected. "Sunrise Hospital is the best. But... which Dr. Chen is it?"

"Conrad." Zola lifted her swollen eyes. "Cardiothoracic surgery. They say he's the best in the hospital for this kind of procedure."

Lily's fingers went stiff. How did he end up involved in this?

A cold sweat crept down her back. "Wait, that's not right..."

"Lily?" Zola caught the change in her face and gripped her hand tighter. "What's wrong? Do you know Conrad?"

Lily opened her mouth. The words jammed in her throat and wouldn't come out.

What was she supposed to say? That Conrad might be connected to human trafficking?

That the news Zola was waiting for might not be good news at all?

She looked at Zola's sunken cheeks, her cracked lips, her bloodshot eyes. This woman had wasted away for her child. Her eye sockets had gone deep and hollow, like a lamp that was almost out of oil.

If she said any of those things now, that lamp might go out for good.

"No." Lily forced a smile. "I was just thinking — the fact that Conrad hasn't come out yet means the surgery is still going. That's a good sign. It means the baby is still fighting, and the doctor is still fighting too."

Zola nodded, grabbing onto Lily's words like they were the last solid thing she had to hold on to.

"Cordelia loved it when I sang to her," Zola said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was afraid of disturbing something. "I sang to her when I was pregnant. I kept singing after she was born. Every time I started singing, she'd stop crying. She'd just stare at me, like she was saying 'Sing it again, Mama'..."

"Zola, don't worry. She's going to be okay." The words came out of Lily's mouth, but inside, she was anything but sure.

Lily stayed with Zola until 12:37 in the morning. Zola's husband arrived at some point, and the three of them waited together outside the operating room.

They had all run out of energy by the time a nurse finally walked out.

There were dark stains on her uniform. Lily didn't let herself think about what they were.

The nurse pulled down her mask. Her expression carried a practiced kind of grief, like an actor who had run through the scene so many times that every crease of the brow landed exactly where it was supposed to.

Zola jumped to her feet. Lily stood up with her. Her knees were shaking, but her legs still held.

"Family of Cordelia?" The nurse looked down at the folder in her hands.

"I'm her mother." Zola's voice was barely there, thin as a thread about to snap.

The nurse was quiet for two seconds. Those two seconds felt like a century.

Lily was praying like mad. Please. Please don't say that word. Tell us she's still in there fighting. Tell us it's going to take more time. Say anything. Just not that word.

But the nurse's lips moved, and those words came out, soft and weightless, like two dead leaves drifting onto water — and heavy enough to crush the whole world.

"I'm sorry."

Zola didn't scream and collapse like people do in TV shows. She just stood there, like a tree that had been struck by lightning — still standing, still whole on the outside, but completely charred within. One touch and she would fall to dust.

Lily felt something clench around her heart and squeeze, so hard she thought it would burst. She heard her own voice coming from somewhere far away, sharp and strange, nothing like herself: "What do you mean, sorry? What do you mean sorry? What are you saying?"

The nurse said something — something about all efforts having been exhausted, about the heart damage being too severe, about how they had done everything they could. The words rained down, but not one of them reached Lily.

She watched Zola's lips tremble, her teeth knocking together in tiny, quick clicks, like someone frozen through in winter. Lily tried to reach out and steady her, but her hands wouldn't listen. Her whole body wouldn't listen.

"I want to see her." Zola's voice went suddenly, unnervingly calm. "I want to see my daughter."

The nurse said they were finishing up, asked her to wait outside a little longer, said someone would come get her soon.

Her tone was gentle, the way you'd speak to a child. But Lily caught something in the nurse's eyes — something shifting, something that came from doing this too many times. A kind of numbness that had settled in and stayed.

She knew it wasn't the nurse's fault. No one should have to keep walking out of a room to tell a family their child is gone, and then hold themselves together just enough to face a mother whose whole world has ended.

But in that moment, Lily hated her. Hated her steadiness. Hated that she could still speak in complete sentences. Hated that her uniform wasn't soaked through with her friend's tears.

Zola didn't sit down. She stood in the middle of the corridor like a statue.

Lily stood beside her, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say. Then something hit her — something important, something urgent, like a drowning person finding a handhold on the rocks.

She turned and grabbed the nurse's arm. The nurse startled, nearly dropping the tray she was carrying.

"Where's Conrad?" Lily asked. "Where is he?"

The nurse hesitated, then shook her head. "Conrad is still in there closing up—"

Lily pulled out her phone. It took her several tries to swipe the screen unlocked.

She found Conrad's number and called. No one answered. She slowly lowered the phone and looked back at Zola, who hadn't moved from the same spot — but something in her posture had shifted.

She was bent forward, both hands braced on her knees, like someone who had run and run until there was nothing left. She was pulling in deep, ragged breaths, but the air seemed to have gone thin, and no matter how hard she breathed, it was never enough.