Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
DANI
Ifollow them into the ICU with Julia trailing close behind me.
I hang back far enough to give them the space they’ll need, though my chest aches at what’s coming.
I watch Vic crouch down, as he tries his best to prepare Rose for what she’ll see.
But inside, I can’t help but think, how do you prepare anyone for this?
More so, how do you prepare a child? How can you see your mother in that state with fuck all ability to change the outcome?
The realization is that there is nothing you can say that will blunt this kind of impact—no kind words.
No steady, yet sympathetic tone can shield her from what waits behind that sliding door.
We hang back, giving Rose the privacy she deserves to say whatever her little heart wants to say to her mom.
Julia and I watch in silence, but are ready to move quickly should she need us.
But she doesn’t. She seems steadier than Vic does in there, as though his presence provides her with the wall she needs to remain upright and strong.
And that’s when I see their similarities.
As they stand there, I know the two of them have suffered so much abuse in their past. Witnessing trauma at such a young age can alter their perception of the world.
This may be the last time that she sees her mother alive.
That thought alone squeezes something in my chest, remembering why I went into this profession in the first place.
To give people this moment. The last chance to say their goodbyes.
Funerals are for the living, but this—this is the real closure.
The time when both are given the chance to say their peace.
Sometimes it is in a better situation, but nonetheless, this is the real end.
Vic crouches beside her. His hand is resting gently on her small shoulders as he coaxes her forward.
When she hesitates, she looks to him for reassurance.
Their eyes meet, and something unspoken passes between them.
Vic nods once and then stands to his full height, taking her hand in his.
Step by step, he leads forward. Then he leans her closer, guiding her shaking fingers, until they meet with Sonya’s slack palm.
Rose leans in, lowering her head, and mouthing words I can’t hear.
Whatever she’s saying, she’s pouring her heart into it.
Vic nods, along with Rose’s words, which confuses me, but still, I watch on.
Then he speaks to Sonya, too. His eyes are sharp as he looks at Rose, making a promise there amongst the three of them.
Finally, he lifts Rose, keeping her steady in his arms, as she presses a kiss to her mother’s bruised cheek.
My throat tightens painfully, and I blink hard against the sting of tears.
Because there is no way to prepare for this.
Each time I do it, it doesn't get any easier. In some situations, such as this one, it is even more challenging to bear witness. No child should ever have to say goodbye like this—a life that’s cut short by the unjust hand of another.
Vic turns, catching my eyes, and motions us over.
We enter the room, and I move with Julia to the bedside, where she takes her sister’s hand.
Her tears break through the silence of the room, as Rose stands there with her own silent ones flowing down her cheeks.
She leans close, whispering apologies, promises, as their shared grief flows in the short distance between them.
Beside her, Vic still holds onto Rose’s hand, grounding her as she gives her mother’s hand one last squeeze before leading Vic out of the room, letting him know she is done.
Seeing that final touch, Julia and I follow them, leaving the ICU together.
I linger a second longer, glancing back, just in time to see Sonya’s blood pressure climbing as it flashes in large red numbers on the monitor.
The nurse rushes forward, ushering us quickly out of the unit as the alarms begin to sound.
We’ve barely cleared the door when the overhead system crackles.
A voice cuts through with its announcement. Code blue. ICU.
People run up the stairs and spill out of the elevators, badging into the locked intensive care unit with proficient speed.
As the door opens, we see a blur of blue scrubs surrounding Sonya’s room.
The same room that we had stood in only minutes ago.
I glance over at Vic. He’s frozen, rooted to the spot.
When his eyes catch mine, something flickers as he blinks, bringing him out of his haze.
Then he bolts forward, as if he has just remembered who he is, disappearing into the crowd of other medical providers.
Minutes feel like eternity, stretching on until we lose track of time, as I stand in the hallway alongside Rose and Julia.
None of us speaks. We don’t need to. The muffled flurry of activity behind the door is enough to tell us she is fighting.
Whether to stay on earth or leave it all behind is yet to be determined.
As more people come and go, I hear the loud, clear instructions being called out.
The request for epinephrine administration, feedback on compressions, and closed-loop communication of commands are documented in the medical record.
I’ve witnessed this countless times, but never like this, and never in this new role.
I feel helpless to ease the burden of the child next to me, who is holding back her sobs, too young to comprehend the events going on, but old enough to understand the gravity of the situation, and terrified enough to know the sadness that will follow the silence soon enough.
The conversation about comfort measures was never finalized, so she remains a full code status.
And now it’s done. Every measure is being performed to bring her back, just as they were processing the possibility of letting her go peacefully.
Sometimes things don’t work out the way we planned, yet they have a way of coming to the same conclusion.
One by one, staff file out of the ICU. They return to their station, their rounds, their charts.
To them, it’s just another part of their lifesaving skills needed for their profession.
To them, it’s routine, but to the family sitting beside me, their life is forever altered because of this.
The noise of the code fades, leaving only hushed voices and the closing of doors as they exit the unit and floor, waiting for the next crisis.
When Vic finally steps back into the hallway, we don’t need words to let us know what happened there.
His face says it all. She’s gone. Rose bolts into his arms. Her cries are raw.
Her stuffed toy falls to the floor, forgotten, as she wraps herself around Vic while he tries to comfort her.
Julia, who once stood up hopeful when she saw Vic, still holding on, now sinks into the nearest chair, her face buried in her hands.
She sobs, her shoulders shake, and all I can do is hand her a fucking box of tissues.
Vic gathers Rose close, his arms holding her tightly in reassurance as she releases grief that is much too large for her little body to hold.
I sit beside her and do my best to console Julia.
“Maybe she was waiting to say goodbye,” she sobs into her tissue, clutching the box tighter.
“She heard that Rose would be okay,” Julia chokes out.
“And whatever her daughter said, whatever Dr. Flores said, maybe that was enough for her to finally let go.”
The ICU nurse appears and gently leads Julia away to discuss next steps, as her grief and words remain with me.
Silence settles in their absence. I sit alone while Vic and Rose stand together.
The girl stares straight ahead with eyes red-rimmed and hollow, seeing far too many things in her young life.
When her father’s name drifts by in Julia’s and the ICU nurse’s nearby conversation, Rose’s body begins to shake.
Vic’s jaw tightens, teeth grinding, as he holds back the fury I am all too familiar with.
One that I can say matches my own, except I’ve always been better at hiding it than Vic, though that in itself says something, given he has had more years to perfect the art.
But I know his tells. I’ve memorized them as surely as I have the lines of his body, the secrets that he hides from the world, as well as the darkest of desires he elicits on my body when we find pleasure in one another.
I stoop and retrieve the rabbit from where it fell by my chair.
Its fur is worn, one ear stitched hastily and now forever bent in that crooked tilt, as though it too has weathered some kind of abuse.
When I hold it out, Rose finally lifts her eyes to mine.
Her small hand reaches for it without a word.
Vic meets my eyes and gives me a nod, his hand lying sturdy and firm on her shoulder, offering his support and conveying to me that he won’t let her face this alone.
Vic clears his throat gently, trying not to startle her. “Can you tell me where you live, Rose?” I hear him ask, and she nods almost mechanically.
But her reply makes me want to cry. “Yes,” she says lowly.
“I’ve had to tell the cops before, and my mom made me memorize it in case I needed help,” she says without making eye contact.
She repeats the address, and Vic carefully listens to it.
The matter-of-fact way she says it guts me because she’s not simply repeating an address, she’s repeating a kind of lesson no child should have to learn.
“I don’t want my dad to take me, Vic.” Her small shoulders shake before she looks up at him.
Her eyes burn with animosity and her voice with such rage.
“I wish he was dead.” The words hit me like a slap.
She’s angry, and I can understand more than I want to, having seen it happen to Vic, I'd still never admit that. “He hurt my mom,” her voice tightens, “and he will hurt me, too.” She says, as if it’s already decided.
She pushes her face into the matted fabric of her stuffed rabbit, wiping her tears against it, and trying to put on a brave face.
Vic gently pulls the rabbit away just enough to see her face, which she is using as a protective shield, hiding her emotions.
“He’s never going to hurt you again, Rose.
I promise you.” She blinks up at him. He begins whispering words of comfort and reassurance about her future to her.
And I stand still, listening to it all. “You stay strong, Rose. This moment doesn’t define you, you hear me?
” She nods, a little whimper escapes her, as she puts on the face of a soldier, her bravery shining through in the darkest hour.
“You can still have the life you want. You can do anything, Rose,” he says, and she nods. “Tell me you understand."
“I understand,” she relays, her voice faint, but unmistakable in her response to his request.
She stares at him one last time, then nods.
Quietly, she walks to her aunt’s side. The nurse sees her approach and gives her a sympathetic smile before returning to work and attending to her other patients in the unit.
Julia gathers her close, and they proceed to leave all this nightmare behind.
Halfway down the hall, they pause. Julia's shoulder shakes as she tries to conceal her grief, but Rose’s eyes are dry now.
She doesn’t cry, nor does she look away.
Instead, she locks her gaze on Vic, her small hand white knuckling the stuffed rabbit in her arms. In that silent exchange, a promise lingers between them—the words Vic told her and ones she will carry on into her future.
The walk home is quiet. I called Emma from the office to tell her everything that had happened.
Everything I’d feared might come true. She gave me her word that it would be okay and that she’d help.
Back at my desk, I’d pinned Vic’s location on my phone, watching the little blue dot moving around the hospital, which helped to calm my rising anxiety.
Knowing Vic, he’s already formulated a plan for revenge.
But thanks to Jameson, I can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t fall apart on his own.
I refuse to lose him again. The device, although small, still has its own SIM card, making it undetectable on Bluetooth and ideal for concealment.
Tonight, its presence is a comfort, and I’ll take whatever I can get.
That was hours ago, right after it happened, and I’d gone back to my office pretending to work, while the day lagged on.
When Vic and I finally left the hospital, he clung to me, whispering how much he loved me, but I could feel his mind wasn’t with me.
It was with Rose and the silent promise he made to her.
We walked hand in hand, as always, but when we reached my apartment, I could sense him pulling away emotionally.
He turned off that part that makes him human, the urge to feel too much.
Instead, he had only the clinical detachment he reserved for everyone else, except me.
“I’ve got something to do,” he murmured.
He didn’t have to tell me that. I could already feel it.
Whatever type of monster that lived inside him had already stirred awake, and he was slipping away, becoming nothing more than its shadow.
I nodded, letting him go, even as every part of me wanted to drag him back.