First message
The notification appears mid-meeting.
$860 — Stark Pediatric Emergency Room.
My chest tightens before my mind can catch up. That card hasn’t moved in years. I never canceled it. I told myself it was indifference, but the truth was simpler: I couldn’t bring myself to close the last line connecting her to me.
Emergency room.
My thoughts spiral. She wouldn’t use it unless she had no other choice. She never was reckless. And this — this isn’t a mistake.
The room fades as concern sharpens into something heavier. Regret. Fear. The memory of words you never should have said. “I never want to see you again”
I silenced my phone, stand slowly, and excuse myself. Whatever is happening, she’s scared. And for the first time in years, I realize how badly I need to know why.
In minutes, I show up at the emergency room, scanning the place before my eyes land on her. She is seated in the waiting area, cradling a child no older than four. The face stops me cold. My hair. My eyes. Unmistakable.
I walk over silently and sit beside her.