CHAPTER TWELVE
Ellie Girl
"How's..." Dad trails off, gesturing weakly toward my laptop. "Whatever it is you do on there?"
I chuckle. "It's going."
He exhales, his voice scratchy and raw. "How many fans do you have now?"
"Four million. And they're called followers, not fans," I correct gently.
Dad huffs a tired breath, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Anyone who watches your life as religiously as those people do—" He pauses, coughing into his fist. "They're fans."
I smile at him, ignoring the tightness in my throat. He's awake. He's talking. And right now, that's enough.
A beat of silence stretches between us before his expression shifts. I know what he's thinking before he even says it.
"Is your mom..." He stops himself, because he already knows.
I swallow hard, adjusting in my seat. "We could, um, video call her?"
He takes a slow, deliberate breath. "Yeah. Let's try that."
I pull out my phone and dial. The call rings once. Then twice. And finally—
"Elowen?" Mom’s voice is muffled as the screen stays dark.
I lift the phone so she can see me. "Mom, video," I say.
A pause, then, "What?" comes back like someone waking from a dream.
"This is a video call," I repeat, louder this time.
Across the bed, Dad rolls his eyes, his first real glimpse of exasperation since waking up. Glad to see he's feeling like himself again.
Mom still doesn't take the hint. "Elowen, stop messing around. What do you want?"
I glance at Dad, giving him a small, knowing smile before sighing. "I'll call you later, Mom."
And then I hang up.
"She hasn't left the house in over a year," Dad murmurs.
I nod slowly. "I know." A beat passes before I add, "She should be here."
He gives me a tight, tired smile. "She would if she could."
The words scrape something raw inside me.
"I got on a flight the second I found out," I tell him. "She can drive fifteen minutes up the road."
"She's not like you, Ellie Girl," he says gently.
"She used to be." The words are weak, even to my own ears.
Dad reaches out, his fingers trembling. I take his hand, holding it tight.
"Thank you for being here," he says.
My throat stings. "Nothing could've kept me away."
He nods, like that's exactly what he expected me to say. "Has Jasper been by?"
I shake my head. "Brooks has, though."
Dad hitches a shoulder. "We're the only family he has."
Something uneasy settles in my stomach. "What happened to his grandma?" I ask hesitantly. "He hasn’t mentioned her much." I don't know why I haven't asked Brooks directly. Maybe because we've never been close like that.
Dad exhales, the sound tinged with something heavy. "She died in her sleep about four months after you left," Dad says. "Brooks found her."
The words drop into my chest. I didn’t know.
"Since then..." Dad trails off, like he's debating whether to say the next part.
"Since then what?"
He hesitates, then sighs. "He has a hard time being in the house. I told him he could stay in your old room."
My mouth drops open. "You gave him my room?"
"He was going through a rough time," Dad says simply. "He just slept in there. Nothing more."
I swallow, my mind spinning. "Well, I have no idea where he’s sleeping now, but he’s always at the house."
Dad nods. "He's been trying to clean out his grandma’s house.
Sell it. Get himself something new. Something without all those.
.. memories." His gaze darkens with understanding.
"He's been going through everything, piece by piece, selling what he can.
But it takes a toll. Some days he has to step away. Give himself time to breathe."
I sit with that for a long moment.
"I didn't know," I admit quietly.
Dad gives me a look. "Most people don't."
"I wish he would've told me," I murmur, more to myself than to Dad.
He exhales, shifting slightly in bed. "Brooks doesn't complain. He just gets on with it. Not like him to dwell on the past."
That's true.
"He took me fishing yesterday," I mention, my voice lighter.
Dad clicks his tongue. "Be careful, Ellie Girl. He's not like other boys."
I laugh softly. "He's not like anyone I know."
Before Dad can respond, a gentle knock on the open door makes me turn. Standing there, all easy smiles and carefully combed hair, is Holden.
"Thought I'd drop by, see how everything's going," he says, his gaze flicking between Dad and me.
Dad grumbles a low, unenthusiastic, "Hello, Holden."
Holden either doesn't notice or pretends not to. "Mr. Donovan," he greets with an almost forced cheerfulness. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Dad snaps, making it very clear he hasn't forgotten Holden's high school betrayal.
Holden tuts like he actually believes that answer. "Good, good." Then, turning to me, he hesitates. "Uh, Elowen, can we talk? Out here?"
I glance at Dad before quickly standing and following Holden into the hallway.
Crossing my arms, I tilt my head. "Everything okay?"
His hands slide into the pockets of his navy scrubs. "I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night?"
My mouth parts, but no words come out.
Holden laughs softly. "Elowen, dinner tomorrow? Catch up?"
I blink, surprised. The no-longer-teen Elowen in me answers before the old hurt can. "Sure. Seven?"
"Sounds like a plan." Holden grins, gives me an awkward little wave, then heads off down the hall.
I exhale, turning back toward Dad's room, but my stomach twists with unease.
I didn't come back here to confront my past, but for some reason, that seems to be all I'm doing lately.
As I walk back into Dad's hospital room, my phone starts ringing. I grab it off the chair, groaning when Mom Calling flashes across the screen.
I answer with zero enthusiasm. "Yeah?"
Dad grunts as I adjust his pillows, shifting beneath my touch.
"When are you heading home?" Mom asks, her tone already teetering on impatient.
I exhale sharply. "I don't know, Mom. I'm at the hospital with Dad. You know, your husband? The man you claim to love but haven't once asked about?"
"Elowen," Dad warns, his voice scratchy.
Mom either doesn't hear or doesn't care. "I'm hungry," she whines.
I still, staring down at Dad, the man who worked his whole life to provide for this family, the man lying helpless in a hospital bed while his wife refuses to set foot outside the house for him. And something inside me just... snaps.
"Then get in your car and go to the damn grocery store."
Mom huffs into the phone. "Pick up a rotisserie chicken and some potato salad. Jasper and Brooks will be here for dinner, too."
I pull the phone away from my ear, gripping it so tight my fingers shake. She's acting like this is just another day. Like nothing is wrong. Like Dad isn't fighting to stay alive.
I lift the phone back to my ear, my voice dangerously low. "Mom. You need to come here. You need to see him."
Silence.
Then, a breath. A ragged, shallow breath. "I can't."
I squeeze my eyes shut, my body vibrating with anger. "Why not? Why can't you? I got on a freaking flight and came home. He's your husband. Why can't you drive fifteen minutes up the road?"
More silence. Then, a shaky whisper, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" I ask, raw.
Then, small as a surrender, she whispers, "I don't know how to leave."
Something in her voice makes me pause.
But I'm too angry, too frustrated, too hurt to stop now.
"You're acting like it's you in this hospital bed," I hiss. "Like you're the one fighting for your life. It's Dad, Mom. Not you. And you're too selfish to sit by his side."
Dad closes his eyes, his fingers twitching on the blanket. "Ellie Girl, that's enough."
But it's not enough.
Because for the past few years, everyone's been pretending Mom is just... like this. That her retreat from the world was inevitable. That she faded away like some unpreventable force of nature.
But that's a lie. She chose this.
"You didn't even ask how he was doing," I say into the phone.
"I knew you'd tell me," she replies.
I let out a sharp laugh, a bitter sound that burns my throat. "That's your excuse? That's your defense? That I would tell you? I shouldn't have to, Mom! You should be here!"
I press my fingers to my temple, trying to control the rage clawing up my throat.
"When did you stop caring?" I demand. "When did you stop loving him enough to try?"
A breath. A slow, ragged inhale. "You don't understand, Elowen."
Dad shifts again, his breath catching, like the room hurts him as much as the stroke did.
"No," I seethe. "I don't."
Silence stretches between us. Dad’s monitor hums steadily, indifferent to what’s breaking inside my mother’s voice. Then, so quiet I almost miss it, “I stopped fighting a long time ago."
The words slam into me like a freight train. I want to reach through the phone and hold her hand, but anger has its claws in me still.
I grip the phone, my pulse roaring in my ears. "What does that even mean?"
Mom exhales shakily, and when she speaks again, the sound is... empty.
"I was already losing him, Elowen. Long before the stroke. It's been happening for years. He stopped seeing me. Stopped hearing me. You were gone, and Jasper, well, he had his art, his rocks, his little world where nothing ever changed. But me? I was just... there. A ghost in my own house."
My throat burns because I don't know what to do with this.
I don't know how to make sense of a mother who was hurting before we even noticed.
"You think I don't want to be there?" she continues. "That I don't hate myself every day for being this way? You think I wanted this? That I woke up one morning and decided to be afraid of the world?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, guilt slicing through me.
Mom isn't okay.
She hasn't been for a long time.
And I never noticed.
"I don't want to lose him," Mom cries softly. "But if I see him like that, I'll have to accept that I already have."
I suck in a shaky breath, and for the first time in years, I let my guard down. Just a little.
"Then let me help you," I whisper. "Let me help you try. I will drive you here. I will make sure you’re safe."
Mom is quiet for so long that I think she's hung up.
Then, finally, "I don't know."
I close my eyes. "Can we at least try?"
"I don’t know how."
"Let me show you, Mom."
I don't know if she'll actually go through with it. I don't know if she'll ever step foot in this hospital.
But for the first time since I came home, I think... maybe she wants to.
And that's something.