CHAPTER 29
MATTY
Istepped into the hospital room, the steady beep of machines cutting through the stillness. My mom was by the bed, her head bowed, one hand gripping my dad’s like she was afraid he’d slip away if she let go.
One look at him, and my stomach turned. His face was a ruin—swollen and mottled with deep purple bruises, one eye completely shut, a gash splitting his cheekbone.
Dried blood clung to his hairline, and there were angry marks along his jaw and neck, fingerprints dark against his skin.
His lip was split, his knuckles scraped raw, and even under the thin hospital blanket, I could see the stiffness in the way his ribs rose and fell.
It wasn’t an accident.
Someone had done this to him.
My chest tightened. “What happened?” I asked, the words scraping out of my throat.
My mom jerked up like she’d been struck.
Then she was in my arms, clutching at my hoodie, sobbing so hard it felt like the sound was tearing through both of us.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she cried, voice muffled against my chest. “I didn’t know if you’d make it in time. I didn’t know what to do.”
I kept my arms around her, comforting her as best I could, even while my eyes stayed fixed on my dad…on the bruises, the blood, the stillness that didn’t fit him.
“Hey,” I murmured finally, guiding her back toward the chair. “Sit down, okay? You need to breathe.”
She sank into the seat, trembling, and I grabbed the half-empty cup of water from the tray, pressing it gently into her hands. “Drink,” I said quietly. “Please.”
She nodded, still crying softly, and I forced myself to look away from her…back to him. I couldn’t stop staring.
The door creaked open behind us, and a man in uniform stepped in, hat tucked under his arm, his expression somber.
“Mrs. Adler?” he said softly. “I’m Officer Grant. I just need to ask a few questions about what happened tonight.”
My mom blinked up at him, dazed, fingers still wrapped around the water cup like she didn’t know what it was for. “I—I already told the paramedics,” she stammered.
“I know, ma’am,” he said gently. “But I need to get a clear timeline.”
She swallowed, nodding once. “I was on shift. A double. The kids were at my mother’s.
When I got home…” Her voice cracked, and she glanced at my dad before looking away.
“He was on the floor. I thought maybe he’d had a heart attack, but then I saw—the living room was…
destroyed. The coffee table, the television, everything, broken. ”
She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth.
The officer nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. “Did anything appear to be taken? Wallets, electronics, cash?”
She blinked at him, confusion flickering across her face. “I…I don’t know. I didn’t look. I just called 911.”
Her tone was thin, trembling, but there was something else under it, something small and off.
I studied her face, the way her eyes darted too quickly to the floor. My gut twisted.
She was hiding something.
A low sound broke through the steady rhythm of the machines—a rough, wet groan that made my head snap up.
“Ronnie?” My mom lurched forward, almost spilling the cup of water. “Ronnie, can you hear me?” Her voice cracked as she clutched his hand, brushing the side of his bruised face with trembling fingers. “Honey, it’s me. Can you hear me?”
But his eyes stayed closed. His chest lifted once, then fell shallowly again, a soft moan slipping out that didn’t sound like recognition, just pain.
My mom started to cry harder, whispering his name over and over, like she could pull him back just by saying it. The officer shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat.
“I’ll get out of your way,” he murmured, stepping back toward the door. “We’ll be in touch once we know more.” He nodded to me and slipped out quietly.
I was just turning to my mom—ready to ask what she wasn’t telling me—when the door opened again. A doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand, his scrubs streaked with the kind of exhaustion you only saw at hospitals. He hesitated when his eyes met mine, the faint question clear in his face.
“It’s okay,” my mom said quickly, wiping at her cheeks. “He’s our son.”
The doctor nodded, then looked back at my dad, his expression tightening.
“Your husband’s stable for now,” he said.
“He has several broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and extensive bruising along his chest and abdomen. We’re keeping an eye on his breathing and possible internal bleeding.
There’s swelling near his temple—we’re watching for a concussion as well. ”
He hesitated, lowering the chart slightly. “Given the circumstances, we’ll need to keep him sedated a little longer while we manage the pain and prevent further stress on his ribs.”
My mom nodded, tears still streaking down her face.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him—the bandages, the bruises, the tubes keeping him alive.
She wiped at her face, voice trembling. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He gave a sympathetic nod and quietly slipped from the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
For a moment, the only sound was the soft, steady beeping of the monitors. My dad’s chest rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm, the bruises on his ribs shifting faintly with each breath.
I turned to her. “Tell me what you’re hiding.”
Her eyes flicked up, startled. “What?”
“Mom.” My voice came out rough. “You’ve been holding something back since I got here. What aren’t you telling me?”
She shook her head, voice breaking. “Matthew, please—not now.”
“Now,” I said firmly. “He’s lying there half dead. Whatever this is, I need to know.”
Her resistance crumbled all at once. She sank into the chair again, staring at her trembling hands. “He told me yesterday,” she whispered. “He said he’d…messed up.”
My pulse kicked hard. “Messed up how?”
“He said he had a sure thing.” The words left her like a confession.
“He said he had a big chance—some kind of game, something he was sure he could win. He said it would fix everything.” She dragged in a breath, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“But it didn’t. He lost. Said it was too much, Matty. More than we could ever cover.”
I stared at her, the words sinking like stones.
“He was devastated,” she went on quietly. “Said he’d find a way to make it right, that he had an idea. He made me promise not to worry.” She gave a bitter, shaking laugh and glanced back at my dad’s broken body. “I guess his idea didn’t work.”
I stared at her, my pulse thudding in my ears. “Why didn’t he just ask me?” I said. “If it was money—why not just come to me?”
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped to her lap, her fingers twisting around one another. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, almost gone. “Because it was more than you could give him.”
A cold feeling crawled up the back of my neck. “Did you know?” I asked slowly. “That he’d been hassling me for money?”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, guilt flashing through them before she looked away again. “Not at first,” she whispered. “I didn’t know until recently. We…we’d been fighting about it.”
Her voice cracked then, and she pressed both hands to her face, the sound of her weeping filling the sterile room. “I thought it was over. I thought he’d stopped.”
The words burned before I even knew I was saying them. “Why do you stay with him?”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
“He’s done this over and over,” I said, my voice rising, raw from everything that had happened—Emma, the hospital, all of it.
“He gambled away everything we ever had. Every time we were close to getting ahead, he found a way to ruin it. You worked double shifts for years because of him. I paid bills he should’ve handled.
He’s the reason we never had anything, why we were always scraping by. ”
She was crying again, silent tears streaking down her face, staring at the floor like she couldn’t bear to look at me.
“He’s selfish,” I said, the words loud and shaking. “He’s never cared about anyone but himself, and now look at him. Look at what he’s done.”
Her shoulders trembled, but she didn’t respond. She just sat there, weeping quietly, her hand pressed to her mouth like she was holding something in.
I took a step closer. My voice dropped, rough and tired. “Why do you stay?”
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, her eyes fixed on the bed. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, she murmured, “Because, although you can’t understand…he’s my seven minutes.”
The words hit like a punch—familiar, haunting, and completely foreign all at once.
She drew in another shaky breath. “When I die,” she whispered, “he and you kids will be what I see.”
I stood there, unable to move.
She kept talking, her voice soft and frayed at the edges. “I know you can’t see it. I don’t blame you for that. But he’s my person, Matthew. Always has been.”
She looked over at my dad then, her gaze tender in a way that twisted something deep in my chest. “You see what he is now. What he’s done.
But you don’t see the other pieces. The man who used to sneak out of work early to make it to your games, even when we couldn’t afford the gas.
The man who carried all four of you kids to bed on nights I could barely stand from the double shifts.
The one who stayed up for days fixing the car with his own hands because we couldn’t afford a mechanic. ”
Her lips trembled, and she laughed brokenly. “You don’t see how he still kisses my wrist every morning before I leave for work. Or how he hums the same stupid song when he cooks, just to make me smile. You don’t see the way he cries when he thinks no one’s looking.”
She wiped at her cheeks, staring at my dad like he was both the wound and the cure. “He’s not a good man, Matty. I know that. But he’s mine. And I love him in a way that doesn’t make sense—not to you, not to anyone. But when everything fades, when it all ends, he’ll be the one I’ll see.”
The room felt too small then, the air too heavy. I wanted to argue, to scream, to tell her love wasn’t supposed to look like this. But the words wouldn’t come.
Because even through the pain and the blood and everything he’d done, I could see it—the truth of it shining in her eyes.
I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. She didn’t fight it, just collapsed against me, her sobs muffled against my chest. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in, the faint scent of soap and hospital air clinging to her hair.
“I don’t understand,” I said quietly. “Not any of it. But I do get that sometimes love doesn’t make sense.”
She nodded against me, shaking, her hands clutching the front of my hoodie like she didn’t want to let go.
I eased her back gently, my hands still on her shoulders. “I have to go.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re not going to stay?”
I swallowed hard. “I love you, Mom. I’ll take care of the medical bills. Whatever insurance doesn’t cover, I’ll handle it. But I can’t—” I glanced at the bed, at the man I barely recognized. “I can’t look at him right now.”
Tears welled in her eyes again, but I kept going before she could speak. “Keep the kids at Grandma’s for a while, okay? Just until we know more. And I know you won’t listen, but…try to stay safe.”
Her lip trembled. “He’ll change after this,” she whispered, like she was trying to convince herself. “He has to.”
I shook my head. “He needs real help, Mom. Not just time, not just promises. Help.”
She looked at me helplessly, and I felt the weight of all the years between us—every fight, every lie, every forgiveness she’d given too freely.
“Seven minutes or not,” I said softly, “you’ve got to try to make him get it.”
She didn’t answer, just turned her face away, her tears falling silently into her lap as I stepped out of the room.
I lingered at the doorway for a moment, the sound of the machines and my mother’s quiet sobs tangling together behind me. My chest felt tight, every breath heavy and uneven.
There was nothing left to say—not to her, not to him.
I turned down the sterile hallway, my footsteps echoing off the tile. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
There was only one person who could make me feel better right now. Only one person whose voice could cut through the noise in my head.
Ophelia.
And I was going to her.