Chapter 23 - Lucy
The doctor looks tired as he steps out of my mom's room. Not rushed, just worn in that way people get when they’ve delivered too much bad news and not enough miracles.
He closes the door behind him and gives Emily and me a careful smile. “Lucy Bennett?”
I nod and stand. “That’s me.”
“I’m Dr. Nguyen. I’m the attending physician on duty tonight.” He glances down at the tablet in his hands. “Your mother was brought in unconscious. We stabilized her, but she hasn’t regained full responsiveness yet. She’s not in immediate danger, but she is not out of it either.”
My stomach drops, and I fist my hands at my side to stop them from shaking. Graham steps up to my side, like he is lending me his strength.
The Dr. continues gently. “Given her history of lupus, there are a few things we’re concerned about.
A neurological event. Severe electrolyte imbalance.
Lupus cerebritis is rare, but it can cause sudden loss of consciousness.
We need imaging. Bloodwork. Possibly a lumbar puncture if the scans indicate inflammation. ”
I swallow. “She’s been having more flare-ups and getting weaker. More tired. Dizzy sometimes.”
He nods. “Has she been seeing any specialists?”
“No. We’ve been on a waitlist for Dr. Teller.” The words feel small and pathetic coming out of my mouth. “There’s an inpatient trial...”
Dr. Nguyen straightens at that. “Yes. I know the one. It’s very competitive.”
I know it is. But hearing him say it with that look on his face makes my stomach ache.
“She’s been on prednisone and hydroxychloroquine for years,” I add quickly. “And a low-dose immunosuppressant, but it isn’t on her hospital chart. We get it filled at a specialty pharmacy.”
He types it in. “That helps. Thank you.”
Emily is clutching the edge of her chair like it’s the only thing holding her upright.
“Insurance?” the doctor asks.
“She’s been here before. It should be on file.”
He nods. “Good. We’ll start with imaging and labs. A nurse will come in shortly to go over everything.”
Then his voice softens. “You can go in and see her now.”
Emily lets out a choked sob that sounds like it’s been trapped in her throat for hours.
Graham stands immediately. “Go,” he says. “I’ll be right here. I’ll make a few calls, get you anything you need.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. I can't say more, can't look up at his kind and caring face.
I need to focus on my mom, not on whatever this night has been or hasn't been.
My heels sound too loud as I walk across the hall and into her room.
It takes everything in me not to join Emily in her tears. But I need to be strong. They need me.
My eyes go to her the second I am in the room. Mom looks impossibly frail in the hospital bed. Too still. Too pale.
The machines hum around her, numbers blinking in a language I hate, not knowing. Her hair is spread across the pillow, thinner than it was last month. Her lips are slightly parted, as if she were about to say something and didn’t get the chance.
Emily climbs into the chair beside the bed and curls in on herself, clutching my coat around her like a cocoon. Within minutes, exhaustion drags her under, her breathing evening out as sleep claims her.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take Mom’s hand.
It’s warm.
That helps.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”
I rub slow circles into her palm, the way I always do when she’s in pain, when she’s scared, when she’s drifting too far away from me.
What if I’m not enough?
What if I can’t do this?
What if I lose her?
The thoughts linger like poison.
Time stretches.
The nurse comes in to explain the tests, her voice calm and clinical. I nod, even though half of what she says feels like it’s coming from underwater.
And then I hear a voice.
Low. Controlled. Familiar.
My stomach flips and then hardens into something bitter.
I glance up.
Through the ICU window, I can see Julian. He’s with Graham.
They’re standing together, talking, and Julian does not look happy. His jaw is tight, his posture rigid like he’s bracing against something.
Good.
He should feel uncomfortable. Anger burns through me suddenly, sharp and unwelcome. I slip off the bed carefully, so I don’t wake Emily and close the door behind me.
Graham turns when he sees me.
Julian turns too.
His eyes flare, not subtle, not controlled, and for a second, it feels like the entire hospital hallway shifts around that look.
“Lucy,” he says, stepping closer. “Are you...”
“I’m fine,” I cut in. “As fine as anyone can be when their mother is in the ICU.”
He absorbs that, jaw tightening. “I know you’re not happy with me.”
No, you don’t know.
“You left me at a table full of strangers,” I say quietly. “So you could dance with other women.”
His expression flickers. Guilt. Frustration. Something else I don’t want to name. Julian must not be used to people calling him on his shit, because the look on his face is telling.
“I will make it up to you,” he says. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
"No, you won't." I agree, "because there won't be a..."
Then he steps aside, and a man I hadn't noticed is standing there in a Tuxedo.
“Lucy, this is Dr. Teller.”
The world tilts, and I wish I felt steadier on my feet right now. The man beside Julian is older, silver-haired, sharp-eyed. Calm in that way that only comes from expertise.
The name takes my breath away.
“Dr. Teller?” I breathe.
He smiles kindly. “You must be Lucy. I’ve heard quite a bit about your mother. I’d like to review her file and ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.”
I stare at him, stunned. I’ve been trying to get her in to see him for years.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry right now... maybe both.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. Of course.”
I start to follow him, brain still spinning.
“Wait,” Julian calls out.
Before I can stop him, he reaches up and lifts Graham’s jacket; the air feels colder instantly, and then Julian drapes his own over me instead.
It’s heavier. Warmer. It smells faintly of him, clean, expensive, unmistakable.
I don’t have the energy to argue.
I don’t even look at him as I follow Dr. Teller toward the nurses’ station, heart racing, caught between anger and hope,
Because right now, my mother is more important than everything.