Chapter 13
Claudette
I woke to voices.
A woman crying—trying to muffle it, failing. A man’s voice, low and soothing, saying something I couldn’t make out.
I kept my eyes closed for a moment, trying to place the voices. They felt familiar. Too familiar.
When I finally opened my eyes, I saw them.
My parents.
My mother sat beside the bed, tissue clutched in her hand. My father stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
The shock of seeing them—actually seeing them, not through a screen—knocked the breath out of me. They were here. In Vegas. In this hospital room.
“Mom?” My voice cracked on the word.
Her head snapped up, and relief flooded her face. “Oh thank god. You’re awake.”
She reached for my hand, and when she touched me, I felt the tremor in her fingers. She was shaking—really shaking.
My father moved closer, and I realized with a jolt how long it had been since I’d been in the same room with both of them. I’d talked to them on the phone. Video calls where we caught up on surface-level things. But actually seeing them, being close enough to notice the details—
How long had it actually been?
“How are you feeling?” my father asked.
“I’m okay.” My throat felt rough.
“You hit your head,” my mother said softly. Her thumb traced small circles on the back of my hand—an old gesture from childhood. “They had to do stitches.”
I reached up and felt the bandage at my temple. The skin beneath throbbed dully.
My mother was still holding my hand. I looked at her more closely. The lines around her eyes seemed deeper than I remembered. Or maybe I’d never been close enough lately to see them properly. Her hair had more gray in it—streaks I didn’t remember.
When had that happened?
My father looked older too. The realization came unwelcome but undeniable. He’d always seemed unchanging to me, but now I could see the exhaustion in the set of his shoulders, the deepened lines around his mouth.
The missing year sat between us like a wall I couldn’t see through, that gap in my memory where anything could have happened. But even before that, how often had I actually seen them? Made the trip home, or had them visit?
The guilt settled heavy in my chest.
“It’s been a long time,” I said quietly. “Since I’ve seen you. In person.”
Mom exchanged looks with Dad, then she said, “It has,” Her voice was soft.
“Too long,” my father added. His voice gentle.
“You flew all the way here.” I remembered passing out, but I supposed it wasn’t anything serious to have them taking a flight to Vegas.
“Of course we did.” My father’s hand moved from my mother’s shoulder to rest on the bed rail, close to me. “Our daughter is in the hospital. Where else would we be?”
Before I could respond, Jack appeared in the doorway.
He stopped when he saw me awake, and the expression that crossed his face made my throat go tight. Relief so profound it looked painful.
He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me into a careful hug, his arms wrapping around me like he needed to confirm I was real. A frown pulled on my face, like my parents, he was overreacting too.
“Jesus, Claudie,” he said into my hair.
“I’m okay.” I squeaked, feeling crushed by his embrace.
“You’re in a hospital bed.” He pulled back, hands still on my shoulders, looking at me like he was checking for damage. “That’s not okay.”
His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled—like he hadn’t stopped moving since he heard. He looked like he’d ran all the way up to Vegas from Carlifonia.
I looked between the three of them—my mother with red-rimmed eyes, my father’s exhausted face, Jack’s barely-contained fear—and felt the full weight of what my fainting had done to them.
My mother smoothed my hair back from my forehead, her touch gentle around the bandage. “You need to rest. Get your strength back.”
“I feel fine now—”
“You collapsed in a mall,” Jack said, voice tight. He’d settled into the chair at the foot of the bed, but his posture was tense. “You hit your head hard enough to need stitches. That’s not fine.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She smiled apologetically when she saw all of us. “I’m sorry, but the patient needs to rest now. You can come back during visiting hours tomorrow.”
“We’re her family—” my father started.
“I understand, but this is for her well being.” The nurse’s voice was kind but firm.
My mother stood slowly, reluctantly, her hand sliding out of mine like she was fighting against it.
She looked at me for a long moment, and something in her expression made my chest ache.
Why did she look like she was trying to memorize my face?
Like she was afraid she wouldn’t get another chance.
It wasn’t that serious. But then again, she wouldn’t be my mom if she didn’t think a minor dizzy spell was life-threatening.
She leaned down and kissed my forehead, her lips warm against my skin. When she pulled back, she cupped my face gently, her thumb brushing my cheek. “Get some rest, sweetheart.”
My father squeezed my hand. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, we do.” His voice was firm. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Jack stood last, lingering by the door as our parents left. He looked back at me, and something in his face—and expression that made me stared back at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. See you later,” he said.
Then they were gone, and the room felt too quiet. Too empty.
I lay there in the silence, thinking about their faces. My mother’s trembling hands. My father’s exhausted eyes. The gray in her hair I didn’t remember.
One year must have been longer than I realized.
I wondered where Michael was.
I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep like the nurse had ordered.
But my mind wouldn’t settle. It kept circling back to the look on my mother’s face when she’d held my hand.
The way my father had gripped my shoulder just a little too tight.
Like they were both afraid of something more than a simple fainting spell.
A few minutes passed. The beeping of monitors became background noise.
Then I saw it.
A phone, sitting on the chair where my father had been. He must have set it down and forgotten it when the nurse came to clear the room.
I sat up slowly, testing for dizziness. The room stayed steady. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the IV stand rolling with me as I stood. My balance was off but manageable.
I picked up the phone and walked toward the door. The hallway stretched out in both directions, too bright, too empty, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Quiet except for the distant sound of medical equipment and low voices coming from somewhere to my left.
I turned toward the voices, moving slowly. The IV stand’s wheels squeaked softly with each step.
Then I saw him.
Michael.
His back partially to me. Relief flooded through me so fast it was almost dizzying—he was here.
I moved toward him, my father’s phone still in my hand, ready for him to turn and look at me with that expression he got sometimes, the one that made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
But as I got closer, I realized he wasn’t alone.
Jack was there too. Standing close. Too close. And their voices—
I stopped walking. Something in their posture made me freeze. Jack’s shoulders were tight. Michael’s head was bowed like he was carrying something he couldn’t set down, like he was carrying something heavy.
“—can’t keep this from her much longer.” Jack’s voice was low but tense, “When it gets worse, she’ll start asking questions we can’t answer without lying to her face.”
I took a step closer, staying against the wall where they couldn’t see me. My hand tightened around my father’s phone.
“We have to try.” Michael’s voice sounded different than I’d ever heard it. Almost desperate. “If we tell her the truth—It could accelerate everything. The stress alone could trigger another seizure or worse.”
My breath stopped. Completely.
Seizure? The words didn’t make sense but I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“I just know that telling her serves no purpose except making us feel better about not lying to her. It doesn’t help her. It just takes away the peace she has left.” Michael spoke again, his voice carrying a wave of sadness I could hear from where I stood.
The peace she has left.
I stepped around the corner before I could stop myself. They were standing close together, Jack saw me first. His face went white.
Michael turned—and the look on his face was indescribable.
The expression that crossed his face in that split second—pure shock, followed immediately by something that looked like fear—told me everything I needed to know. That this was real. That whatever they’d been talking about, I wasn’t supposed to hear it.
He tried to school his features into something neutral, something calm. But it was too late. I’d seen it.
“Claudette—” he started.
“What truth?” My voice shook. “What are you keeping from me?”
Neither of them spoke. Jack looked at Michael. Michael looked at me, and I watched him try to find words that wouldn’t give anything away.
“What truth, Jack?” I looked at my brother.
“Claudette, you should be resting—” Jack started, but I cut him off.
“Don’t.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “Don’t treat me like a child. What are you hiding?”
“There’s more to it than I can explain right now,” Michael said. He took a step toward me, but stopped midway.
“Then explain it anyway.” My voice rose despite me. I looked between them. “What did you mean about accelerating what? About seizures?”
The words felt foreign in my mouth. Wrong. Like they belonged to someone else’s life, not mine.
“You need to calm down,” Michael said, too gently.
“I am calm.” I wasn’t. But my heart was pounding now, hard enough that I could feel it in my throat. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Claudette, please—” Jack moved toward me.
“Tell me what you meant.” My voice was rising now. I could hear it but couldn’t stop it.
Michael’s hands were on my shoulders now, gentle but firm. “Not here. Not like this.”
“I want to know now!” I tried to pull away from him but his grip tightened. “Stop treating me like I’m—”
That’s when the headache hit.
Not gradual. Not a warning. Just pain—violent and absolute.
I made a sound—half gasp, half cry—and my hands flew to my head.
My knees buckled. Michael caught me before I hit the floor.
“Claudette.” His voice was urgent now, scared in a way that made everything worse.
I tried to answer but the pain was spreading too fast, radiating from the base of my skull outward in waves that made my vision blur at the edges.
Images flashed behind my eyes. Disconnected and ungraspable.
“Claudette!” Michael’s hands were on my face now, tilting it up. “Stay with me. Breathe. Just breathe.”
I tried. But breathing felt impossible when everything hurt.
He was already moving, scooping me into his arms. My body felt weak, boneless. All my strength had evaporated with the pain.
“Jack—” Michael’s voice was sharp, commanding. “Get a doctor. Now.”
I heard Jack’s footsteps, running. Heard him calling out for help.
Michael was carrying me back toward my room, his arms tight around me.
“I’ve got you,” he kept saying. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just hold on.”
“What’s wrong with me?” The words barely made it out.
“Nothing’s wrong.” But his voice shook, betraying him. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. You’re going to be fine.”
The hallway lights were too bright. They streaked across my vision as he moved, making the pain worse.
We reached my room just as a nurse appeared, followed quickly by the doctor from earlier.
Michael laid me on the bed, careful but fast, his hands never quite leaving me. Like he was afraid if he let go, something terrible would happen.
“I’ll take care of her,” he said to Jack, who’d appeared in the doorway. His voice was strained but firm. “I’ve got her.”
The nurse and doctor were asking questions, checking things, but their voices sounded distant. Muffled. Like I was underwater.
Michael’s hand found mine and held on.
“What’s happening to her?” he was asking the doctor. “This is the second time today—”
“We need to stabilize her vitals,” the doctor said. “Get her pain under control—”
“Then do it.” Michael’s voice was raw. “Please.”
Someone adjusted my IV. Something cold flooded my arm, and slowly—so slowly—the pain started to ease. Not gone, but manageable. Distant.
The doctor and nurse were talking to Michael in low voices. I caught fragments. “Monitor closely” and “run more tests” and “concerning pattern.”
Then they were gone, Jack leaving with them and it was just us.
Michael was in the chair beside the bed, still holding my hand. His other hand came up to smooth my hair back from my forehead, gentle around the bandage.
“I’m not a child,” I whispered, anger and fear tangled in my throat. I tried to sit up but he put a hand on my shoulder, keeping me down. Not roughly, but firmly. “I’m not fragile. I’m not stupid. And I’m tired of everyone acting like I can’t handle the truth.”
“Claudette—”
“No.” I grabbed his wrist, holding on. “You heard what I heard in that hallway. You know I heard it. So stop pretending. Stop—Stop lying to me.” My voice cracked on the last word.
He was quiet for a long moment. His thumb traced circles on my palm, that familiar gesture that should have been comforting but now just felt sad.
“When we get home,” he said finally, voice low, defeated. “When you’re released from this hospital. I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
I looked at him, wanting to argue and demand answers right now. But the medication was making everything soft like I was laying in clouds, and his eyes were pleading with me in a way I’d never seen before.
“Promise?” My voice was barely a breath.
“I promise.” He smoothed my hair back again. “Everything. When we’re home.”
My eyes were getting heavy. Whatever they’d given me was strong, pulling me toward sleep.
“Don’t leave,” I said.
“I’m right here.” His hand tightened on mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Sleep pulled me under slowly this time, dragging me down into darkness. But even as I faded, my mind kept circling back to those words. The ones I’d heard in the hallway.
Something was wrong.
Something huge.
Something terrible.