Chapter 10
JORDAN
Henry’s been asleep for twenty minutes, which, according to Alexa is the perfect window for getting things done. She’s sitting at my kitchen table with her laptop, working on something that looks like job applications, while I mentally review my list of errands.
“I hate to ask,” I say, closing the dishwasher after loading the breakfast dishes, “but would you be okay watching Henry while I run out for a bit? I need to pick up more formula and diapers, and there are a few other things I’ve been putting off.”
“Of course.” Alexa doesn’t look up from her screen. “Take your time. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I know this isn’t exactly what you signed up for.”
She looks up then, and those big brown eyes catch the morning light streaming through the kitchen window. “Jordan, this is exactly what I signed up for. Go run your errands.”
Something about the way she says my name makes my stomach flip. Professional. Reassuring. But there’s a warmth underneath it that feels like more than just politeness.
“I should be back in a couple hours.”
“No rush.”
I grab my keys and wallet, trying not to notice how the light brings out the golden highlights in her hair. Or how, when our hands accidentally touched earlier while transferring Henry, her skin felt impossibly soft. Like silk.
In the car, I force myself to focus on my errands.
First stop: CVS for formula and diapers.
Second stop: the grocery store for actual food, since I’ve been living on coffee and whatever takeout I can get delivered.
Third stop: maybe swing by the hospital to check on Amy, though I wasn’t planning to visit today.
But even as I’m navigating the baby aisle at CVS, my mind keeps drifting back to that moment in the kitchen. The way Alexa moved so naturally around my space, like she belonged there. The easy competence with which she handled Henry’s morning routine.
The way she looked at me when our faces were inches apart.
I shake my head, grabbing a pack of size-three diapers with more force than necessary. This isn’t what I should be thinking about. Alexa is helping me take care of my nephew. She’s doing a job, nothing more.
And I have bigger things to worry about than whatever attraction I might be developing toward my neighbor.
Like Amy, who’s been unconscious for three days now with no sign of improvement.
The grocery store is busier than I expected for a Sunday morning. Families doing their weekly shopping, couples debating pasta sauce options, and kids begging for cereal they saw in commercials. Normal life, happening all around me while my world feels anything but normal.
I grab a cart and start working through my mental list. Bread, milk, eggs.
Basics I should have picked up days ago.
The produce section overwhelms me with choices I never had to make before Henry arrived.
Do I need bananas? Sweet potatoes? Alexa mentioned something about introducing new foods gradually.
My phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Abrams: How are you holding up? Haven’t seen you around the hospital.
I type back: Taking some time off. Family situation.
Her response comes quickly: Let me know if you need anything. We miss you in oncology.
It’s strange to think that my other life, my work life, is continuing without me.
Mrs. Reyes is probably wondering why I haven’t stopped by to check her latest scans.
Mr. Rodriguez might be asking where his favorite doctor went.
But that world feels distant right now, like it belongs to someone else.
I finish shopping and load everything into my car, already thinking about the next stop. The hospital looms across the street, its windows reflecting the afternoon sun. I hadn’t planned to visit Amy today, but now that I have the time…
The pharmacy line moves slowly, giving me too much time to think. About Amy lying in that hospital bed. About Henry, who might never remember his mother. About the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing beyond getting through each day.
About how much easier everything feels when Alexa is around.
By the time I’m loading groceries into my car, I’ve managed to push those thoughts aside. Focus on what matters. Amy getting better. Henry staying healthy and happy. Everything else is just a distraction.
My phone rings as I’m pulling out of the parking lot. Alexa’s name on the screen makes my pulse quicken in a way that’s becoming annoyingly familiar.
“Everything okay?” I answer.
“Everything’s fine. Henry woke up from his nap, and we had lunch. But I was wondering if you needed me to stay longer today? I can take him over to my house if that would be easier.”
She’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long, but I don’t want to go into it. I don’t know why exactly, but I’m just not ready to tell her about Amy. Maybe putting what’s happened into words is just too painful.
“That would be great, actually. I have one more stop to make. Would another couple hours work?”
“Perfect. Take all the time you need.”
The ICU is quieter than usual when I arrive. Visiting hours don’t officially start for another thirty minutes, but Dr. Rockaway waves me through when she sees me at the nurses’ station.
“Any changes?” I ask, though I can see from Amy’s chart that there haven’t been.
“Her vitals remain stable. Brain activity is normal. We’re just waiting for her to wake up.”
Just waiting. As if it’s that simple.
Amy looks smaller than she did yesterday, if that’s possible. The machines around her bed beep and hum with mechanical efficiency, monitoring every breath, every heartbeat. I take the chair beside her bed, the same one I’ve sat in each day since the accident.
“Hey, sis.” I reach for her hand, careful not to disturb the IV line. “Henry slept through the night last night. Eight hours straight. You’d be proud of him.”
Her hand feels warm in mine, which I choose to take as a good sign.
“I hired someone to help with him. A nanny, I guess. Her name is Alexa, and she lives next door. She’s really good with Henry. She gets him to stop crying just by holding him.” I pause, thinking about this morning. “She’s good with everything, actually. Very patient. Very kind.”
I tell Amy about the grocery-shopping trip, about how natural Alexa was with both Henry and her own son. About how she didn’t make me feel incompetent, just inexperienced.
“You’d like her,” I continue. “She reminds me of you, actually. That way you have of making everyone around you feel like they matter.”
The words hang in the air, joining the steady beeping of the monitors. I wish Amy would squeeze my hand. Blink. Give me any sign that she can hear me.
Instead, there’s just the quiet rhythm of machines keeping her stable while we wait for her to find her way back to us.
“I need you to wake up, Amy. I’m doing my best with Henry, but he needs his mom. I need my sister.” My voice cracks slightly. “Just… come back to us, okay?”
I sit with her for another hour, talking about work, about Henry’s progress with solid foods, about anything that might reach her wherever she is.
The steady rhythm of the machines becomes background noise as I tell her more about yesterday’s grocery trip, about how Alexa knew exactly which baby food to buy and which diapers work best.
“She’s really good at this,” I tell Amy. “Better than I am, anyway. Henry lights up when he sees her. It’s like he knows she understands him in a way I’m still figuring out.”
I’m about to tell Amy more about how natural Alexa is with Henry when I hear footsteps in the doorway. Dr. Ferrera appears, looking surprised to see me.
“Jordan? I didn’t expect to find you here today.”
“Just visiting.” I stand up, suddenly feeling like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. “How are things in oncology?”
“Busy. Dr. Williams has been covering your patients, but everyone’s asking when you’re coming back.” Ferrera steps into the room, his expression softening when he sees Amy. “How is she?”
“Stable. No changes.”
“And you? How are you holding up?”
It’s the same question everyone asks, and I never know how to answer it honestly. “I’m managing. Taking it one day at a time.”
“That’s all you can do.” Ferrera looks at Amy again, then back at me. “You know, if you need anything, someone to talk to, whatever, don’t hesitate to call. We’re all rooting for you.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
After he leaves, I feel the heaviness of everyone’s concern pressing down on me. My colleagues checking on me, my parents calling daily for updates, even the nurses in the ICU who ask how I’m doing when they see me in the hallway.
Everyone wants to help, but no one can fix this. No one can make Amy wake up.
Except maybe Amy herself, if she decides she’s ready to come back to us.
When visiting hours officially end, I kiss Amy’s forehead and promise to be back tomorrow. The hallway outside the ICU feels longer than usual as I walk toward the elevators, passing nurses I recognize from my own shifts in other parts of the hospital.
My phone rings as I’m walking to the parking garage. Mom’s contact photo fills the screen.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Jordan, honey, how are you? How’s Amy?”
The question I’ve been dreading. “She’s doing good. Stable. The doctors are optimistic.”
It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, which is different from optimistic. But Mom doesn’t need to know about the caution part.
“And how’s little Henry?”
“He’s great. Sleeping better, eating well. He slept through the night last night.”
“That’s wonderful. Are you managing okay on your own?”
“Actually, I hired some help. A nanny. She’s been a lifesaver.”
“A nanny?” Mom’s tone immediately shifts to what I recognize as her matchmaking voice. “What’s she like?”
“Professional. Good with babies. Very reliable.” I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat, already knowing where this conversation is headed.
“Is she pretty?”
“Mom.”
“What? I’m just asking. It would be nice if you finally had a woman around who could appreciate what a catch you are.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling. “She’s helping me take care of Henry. That’s all.”
“If you say so. But Jordan? Don’t close yourself off to possibilities. Life is short, and you deserve to be happy.”
“I know, Mom. I’m just focused on getting through this right now.”
“Of course you are. But promise me you won’t forget to take care of yourself too. Amy’s going to need you strong when she wakes up.”
When she wakes up. Not if. Mom’s certainty helps, even if I’m not sure I share it completely.
“I promise. Henry and I are doing fine. Better than fine, actually.”
“Good. Send me some pictures of him when you get a chance.”
“I will. I love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, sweetheart. Give Henry a kiss from his grandma.”
After we hang up, I sit in my car for a moment, watching other visitors make their way to and from the hospital. Some look relieved, others devastated. All of them carrying the strain of someone else’s crisis.
I drive home thinking about what Mom said. About possibilities. About not closing myself off. About how, for just a moment this morning, standing close to Alexa in my kitchen, I forgot about everything except the way she looked at me.
The thought that follows catches me off guard: what would it be like if Alexa were still around after Amy wakes up and takes Henry home?
What would it be like to have someone in my life who knows how I take my coffee, who doesn’t mind that I work long hours, who makes my house feel like more than just a place where I sleep between shifts?
The idea scares me almost as much as it appeals to me. I’ve built my life around independence, around not needing anyone else. But these past few days have shown me how much easier things can be when you have help. When you have someone who understands what you’re going through.
When you have someone who looks at you like you matter.
I used to think I would never want that, but the past few days have taught me that nothing is guaranteed. Your whole world can turn upside down in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, even the scariest things are worth taking a risk on.