Chapter 25
Alex
The hospital was a blur of sterile white tile and the low hum of machinery. I was practically dragging Carrie along, my eyes darting from sign to sign, but the words were just jumbled letters. My brain was misfiring.
Carrie’s grip on my hand tightened, pulling me to an abrupt halt. "Alex. Stop. Look at me." Her voice was a cool splash of water on a burn. "Which ward? Which room?"
Carrie scanned the directory above us with clinical efficiency. "This way." She didn't just walk; she commanded the hallway.
We reached the locked double doors of Ward C. I jammed my finger into the intercom button. A nurse appeared on the other side, moving with a lethargic pace that made me want to scream. She cracked the door open just a fraction.
"I’m here to see my mum," I blurted. "Karen Fischer. Room 402."
The nurse checked her clipboard. "It’s immediate family only on the ward at this time of night. Anyone else will have to wait in the main lobby until visiting hours at 10:00 a.m."
"I am immediate family! And she—" I gestured at Carrie, my voice rising in panic. "She’s with me. I need her."
"Rules are rules, sweetheart," the nurse said, her expression stony as she began pulling the door shut.
My composure crumbled, but Carrie stepped forward.
She didn't get frantic. She simply shifted her weight, her posture radiating an intensity that made the nurse straighten up.
Lowering her voice into that terrifyingly calm, academic authority, Carrie stepped into the woman's personal space. I didn’t hear every word—something about professional courtesy, patient advocacy, and family representation—but her gaze was so absolute that the nurse stammered and stepped back, holding the door open.
"Thank you," Carrie said with a sharp nod, her hand firm on my back as she guided me onto the ward.
We reached Room 402, and I pushed the door open. My dad was standing by the window, looking smaller and more exhausted than I'd ever seen him.
"Lex," he breathed.
I moved past him straight to the bed. My mum looked tiny against the stark white sheets, sleeping heavily beneath an oxygen mask that fogged with every shallow breath. I sank onto the edge of a plastic chair, my hand hovering over hers, terrified she might break.
"She’s stable," Dad said, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I finally reached out and took Mum’s hand. The "date" version of me completely evaporated.
My dad looked up at Carrie. “Thank you, Caroline. For getting her here.”
"You don't need to thank me, Phil," Carrie said softly from the shadows.
The room fell into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hiss of the oxygen.
Dad sat back down, burying his face in his hands.
Carrie moved silently across the room, speaking to him in a low, soothing tone, asking if he needed water.
My lecturer, the woman who had kissed me breathless over a car console minutes ago, was now acting as the calmest, most capable person in my family's crisis.
The heavy door groaned open. A young nurse pushed a blue, sterile leather recliner into the room, followed by the rhythmic click of Carrie’s heels. She had a look of slight, sharp annoyance that usually meant someone was about to get a verbal flaying.
The nurse reappeared, breathless, pushing a second recliner into the room.
Carrie stepped over to us. “Phil.”
My dad blinked at the chair. “It’s okay, Caroline. You should take it.”
Carrie shook her head with absolute finality. “I would much prefer you did.”
Dad was too tired to fight. He stood and sank into the blue leather. Carrie moved to me next, leaning down to kiss the top of my head while gently coaxing me to stand. She guided me down into the second seat. Compared to the plastic chair, it was like sinking into a cloud.
The nurse stammered, "I do apologise, Dr. Carter, but... there are no more available."
Carrie waved him away with a flick of her wrist, and he practically sprinted from the room. She pulled up one of the discarded plastic chairs next to me and sat.
"Carrie, we should swap," I whispered.
She gave me a look that made my protest die in my throat. I sank back into the recliner. Message received.
The door opened again, bringing the hurried energy of the night shift.
A doctor in rumpled scrubs looked over the chart.
"Mr. Fischer, and you must be Alex?" He cleared his throat. "We’ve got the preliminary results back from the bloods and the chest X-ray. The infection in her chest has progressed. It’s pneumonia. "
The word hit me like a physical blow. People die of pneumonia. For someone as fragile as my mum, it felt like a death sentence.
"Fucking pneumonia?" The words slipped out. "How? She’s barely left the house."
The doctor started to give a textbook answer about reduced lung capacity, but my brain short-circuited. Then, a firm, warm hand settled on my shoulder. Carrie leaned forward, her focus shifting entirely to the doctor.
"Which lobe is affected?" she asked, her voice sharp and precise. "And what is the specific antibiotic protocol you’re starting her on? Given her previous reaction to penicillin, I assume you’re looking at macrolides?"
The doctor blinked, surprised, and quickly straightened his posture, realising he was talking to someone who spoke his language.
I sank back into the recliner. I had no idea what they were talking about, but the sound of Carrie’s voice taking charge acted like a shield.
She was fighting the battle I didn't have the strength for.
Once the doctor left, the room settled into a heavy quiet. It wasn’t long before the day caught up with my dad; his head lolled to the side, and a soft snore told me he was finally out.
I fought my own drooping eyelids, terrified that if I stopped tracking the condensation in Mum's mask, her heart might stop. Carrie’s slender fingers began to comb slowly through my hair.
"Get some sleep, Alex," she whispered.
"No," I muttered. "What if she wakes up?"
"She’ll need your strength when she does, darling. You can't help her if you collapse."
I looked at her, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. She was sitting on a rigid plastic chair in an expensive charcoal dress and heels, looking like an oil painting, a masterpiece accidentally hung in a public hospital.
"Carrie, swap with me," I sighed.
"Don't even think about it," she commanded softly. "Stand up."
I reluctantly let go of my mum’s hand and stood. Instead of taking the seat, Carrie pulled the lever, pushing the recliner back until it was almost flat. Then, with smooth grace, she wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me down on top of her.
I sank into her, my head finding the crook of her neck, my body moulding into hers. The scent of sandalwood and expensive perfume wrapped around me like a fortress. Carrie held me tight, tucking me under her chin.
"I've got you," she whispered against my temple. "Get some sleep, darling."
Wrapped in her arms, the thudding in my chest finally slowed, and I let the darkness take me.
* * *
The first thing I heard was a murmur—two voices weaving together in the quiet. I blinked my eyes open as morning light filtered through the blinds.
Mum.
I sat up abruptly, my heart jumping into my throat.
"Easy, darling. Easy," Carrie whispered, her hands steadying my shoulders.
I looked toward the bed. Mum was still asleep, but the sickly greyish hue was gone, replaced by a faint touch of pink in her cheeks. Her breathing looked deeper.
"She’s okay," Carrie murmured. "The antibiotics are doing their job, Alex. She’s stirred a couple of times. It’s exactly what she needs."
I let out a long, shaky sigh. The clock on the wall read just after 10:00 a.m. I had been out for nearly eight hours. Carrie kept me firmly in her lap, her arms wrapped around my waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I looked across the bed at my dad. He was sitting in his recliner, a lukewarm cup of tea in his hand, and he didn't even blink at the sight of me on my lecturer’s lap. He just offered a tired, grateful little nod.
The absolute absurdity of the last twelve hours hit me.
We had been on our first proper date, drinking mocktails and laughing.
Now, she was a part of the furniture at my mother’s bedside.
It should have made me want to run for the hills, but instead, it felt terrifyingly right. She had become my anchor.
A couple of hours later, Carrie finally moved back to the plastic chair, but only after she’d marched down to the café and returned with a tray of sandwiches.
"Carrie, you don’t have to stay," I whispered, picking at a wrap. Guilt was gnawing at me. "You had that meeting at nine. Your office... your reputation. We’re not your responsibility."
Carrie didn't look up from her coffee, but her hand found my knee, her grip firm. "Stop stressing about the university, Alex. I sent an email at six a.m. notifying them that I wouldn't be in. My responsibility is exactly where I want it to be."
I looked at her, my throat tight. I was about to argue when a wet, raspy cough cut through the room.
Our conversation died instantly. Dad sat bolt upright.
Mum’s eyes fluttered open, glazed but conscious. She looked confused, her gaze drifting from me to Dad, and then to the elegant woman standing just behind my shoulder. Carrie stayed back, a calm shadow, smiling softly.
"Karen," Dad breathed, reaching for her hand. "You're okay, love. You're in the hospital, but you're doing better."
Mum blinked at the three of us. It must have been a hell of a sight—Dad in his rumpled work clothes, and Carrie and I still dressed up for a five-star restaurant. I felt a wave of pure gratitude that Mum had already met Carrie before this.
Mum squeezed my hand back. It was weak, but it was there. She was going to be okay.
Mum had fallen asleep again, but this time it seemed restful rather than fucking terrifying. The frantic, shallow gasps had smoothed out into a steady rhythm that I could finally trust.