Chapter 32 Caleb
CALEB
Ipaced the waiting room outside the surgery, my footsteps wearing a path into the floor. Donna was crying. Elle had her arms around her, murmuring comforts I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t stand the sound of Donna’s sobs—it felt like something was tearing open inside my chest.
What was going on with Nyah’s health? Why had there been so much medication in her bathroom cabinet? Who was Dr. Sloan? The questions spiralled until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.
I thought about our fight. Did the fight cause her stress? Did it cause this reaction? This is exactly why I was so angry, I thought bitterly. She never shared anything. Never let anyone in.
And Lucas—God. What was I supposed to tell him?
I sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted, my hands trembling. For the first time in years, I pressed my palms together and bowed my head. Please. Please, God. Let her be fine.
Two hours passed.
My brother and sisters stayed with me, along with Donna and Elle. The rest of the family went home, unable to bear the waiting.
When a man in surgical scrubs walked toward us, every muscle in my body went rigid.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Dr. Sloan. Who’s Elle Fernandez?”
Elle raised her hand.
I surged forward without thinking, rubbing the back of my neck. “How is she?” I asked. “Is Nyah going to be all right?”
He removed his mask, his face drawn. “I can only speak to Elle,” he said carefully. “Nyah listed her as her emergency contact.”
“You can tell them,” Elle said quickly. “I give permission.”
“Well,” he began, “the good news is that she’s stable, and the surgery went well.”
I barely registered the relief before the next wave of fear hit. “What’s wrong with her?” I asked.
Dr. Sloan scratched his cheek and looked at us. “Hasn’t she told any of you about her condition?”
I looked around.
Donna and Elle’s faces mirrored my own confusion.
He sighed. “Of course she didn’t.” He shook his head. “Nyah has what we call an anomalous coronary artery.”
I heard gasps, but they felt distant. How could she not tell anyone? Not even me?
“Because she waited so long to have the surgery,” the doctor continued, “we need to monitor her in the ICU for the next forty-eight hours. They’re critical.”
My mouth went dry. My own heart felt like it was folding in on itself, a numb ache spreading through my chest.
“What do you mean she waited so long?” Sophia asked.
“She’s had this condition for many years,” Dr. Sloan said, consulting his clipboard. “Her symptoms worsened last year. We scheduled surgery for August. Insurance didn’t cover it fully, but she had the funds. Then she called to postpone, saying something had come up. I advised against delaying it.”
Donna screamed. “This is my fault,” she sobbed. “It’s my fault. She gave me the money.” Elle pulled her into her arms as Donna broke down completely.
Before anyone could speak, a nurse ran toward the doctor. “Dr. Sloan—we need you. It’s Nyah.”
We followed him down the corridor to the ICU.
I watched through the glass as chaos erupted around her bed.
The monitor was flat.
Someone called out times.
The defibrillator was wheeled in.
CPR began.
I couldn’t breathe.
Seconds stretched into something unbearable.
Come back to me, Nyah. Please come back to me.
Then—movement.
The monitor flickered.
A rhythm appeared.
Her pulse came back.
I watched the doctor exhale in relief as her vitals stabilized.
After Nyah was transferred to a private ICU room two hours later, I cornered Dr. Sloan and handed him a cheque. “This should cover everything,” I said. “Please don’t tell her.”
My father arrived and refused to leave my side.
“Dad, I’m fine,” I said eventually. “Please go home. I want to stay with her.”
My family finally left, promising to return in the morning.
Nyah lay motionless beneath the thin hospital sheets, monitors breathing for her in soft, rhythmic beeps. Every sound felt amplified. Every rise of her chest felt borrowed.
I pulled the chair closer and sat, elbows on my knees, hands clasped like I was holding something together that wanted to break apart.
I had accused her of being closed off. Of withholding. Of not trusting me.
And all the while she had been carrying this—quietly, carefully—measuring her days, her money, her strength. Delaying her own surgery so others wouldn’t fall apart.
I had called her selfish without using the word.
The irony made my chest ache.
I reached for her hand, hesitant at first. Her fingers were warm. Alive. The smallest mercy.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though she couldn’t hear me. I leaned back and stared at the ceiling, blinking hard. I hadn’t cried in years—not since I was young enough to believe it fixed things. But something pressed painfully behind my eyes now.
The next day, a soft knock came at the door.
Lucas.
He stood in his pyjamas, clutching Eeyore to his chest, his small shoulders tense beneath an oversized hoodie. Elle hovered behind him, eyes red, her face exhausted.
“Mama?” he whispered.
I stood so fast that the chair scraped loudly against the floor. “She’s sleeping,” I said gently, crouching so I was eye level with him. “The doctors are helping her get better.”
He studied me with that unnerving seriousness kids sometimes had, like they could see through all the words adults used to soften truth. “She’s strong,” he said quietly. “She always gets better.”
The confidence in his voice undid me more than fear ever could.
“I know,” I said, my throat thickening. “She’s the strongest person I know.”
He nodded once, then climbed carefully onto the chair beside her bed. He reached out and placed Eeyore next to her arm, deliberate and reverent, like an offering. “So she won’t be alone,” he explained.
Something inside my chest fractured. I turned my face away before he could see it.
Lucas leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against the mattress. “You can wake up now,” he told her softly. “It’s okay. I’ll behave better. I promise.”
I pressed my knuckles against my mouth.
I had asked myself what I would tell Lucas if something went wrong. Now I knew the real terror wasn’t losing her. It was explaining to this child that even the strongest people could be pushed too far. That love didn’t always protect the way it should.
After Elle led him away, I sat back down and took Nyah’s hand again, holding it tighter this time. I watched her breathe, memorizing the rise and fall of her chest.
At some point, exhaustion dragged me under.