Chapter 1 - The hospital room
My mother pulled Etta out of a hospital bed six hours after surgery because my nephew wanted the window.
I was gone for nine minutes.
Nine.
The hospital pharmacy downstairs had filled Etta’s discharge medications, and the nurse suggested I collect them before evening rounds.
Etta had undergone a laparoscopic appendectomy that morning.
Routine as childhood surgery can ever be called routine.
Her appendix had not ruptured.
No sepsis.
No intensive care.
She was expected to stay overnight because nausea and pain had made walking difficult.
Before I left, she was lying beneath a pale hospital blanket with her stuffed fox tucked under one arm.
My mother, Lenora, sat near the window.
My sister’s son, Lucas, was beside her playing a game on a tablet.
I said:
“Don’t let Etta get up without the nurse.”
Lenora waved me away.
“She’s not made of glass.”
I should have stayed.
When I returned, the first thing I saw was my travel bag slipping from my hand.
Etta was on her knees.
Her hospital gown had twisted beneath her.
Both hands clutched the edge of the mattress.
Her face was white.
Lenora had one hand around her upper arm.
Lucas stood frozen beside the window.
“Get up,” Lenora sneered. “My grandson wants the bed by the window.”
Etta tried.
Her legs failed again.
“Daddy.”
I crossed the room.
Lenora released her.
I lifted Etta carefully, one arm supporting her back and the other beneath her knees.
She cried when her abdomen tightened.
I put her back on the mattress.
“Where does it hurt?”
“My tummy.”
The surgical dressings were intact.
No obvious bleeding.
Then she pressed her face against my shirt.
“Daddy… Grandma says boys matter more.”
I looked at Lenora.
She gestured toward Lucas.
“He’s healthy enough to enjoy it. She just lies there.”
Something inside me broke.
I stepped toward her.
Put both hands against her shoulders.
And shoved.
Lenora fell backward into the rolling visitor chair.
The chair shot across the room.
Hit the wall.
She slipped sideways and landed on the floor.
Lucas screamed.
The nurse appeared in the doorway.
“Mr. Mercer!”
I stopped.
Lenora pushed herself upright.
Her hair had fallen across one side of her face.
She pointed at Etta.
“Choose that spoiled girl again and your son gets nothing from me.”
My entire body went cold.
The nurse looked at me.
Then at Lenora.
I turned slowly.
“My son died three years ago. Who have you been sending money to?”
Lenora’s face changed.
Not confusion.
Not grief.
Recognition.
She had said too much.
Hospital security arrived before she answered.
The nurse moved Lucas into the hallway.
Another nurse checked Etta.
I remained beside the bed.
Lenora said:
“This is a family matter.”
May you like
I answered:
“Not anymore.”
