Getting coherent words out of El proves impossible. All she does is cry until someone else collects the phone from her. I press my knuckles to my forehead as the new voice comes on. A man. I start pacing.
The man’s voice is familiar but I can’t place it. He says something. Something about my little girls and an accident on the frozen lake in the park. A gasp locks in my throat, I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles turn white. My eyes sting with tears. No. I shake my head. I don’t want to hear the rest of it.
But he won’t stop talking. He won’t stop with his bad news. She’s in ICU. The doctors are doing the best they can. I have to get there. Eyes shut tight, I release my breath slowly, too scared to ask any question.
She. Who?
My feet move before my brain processes anything. I grab my keys and rush to the garage. Everything is a blur as I struggle to open the door of the car and get inside. My arms tremble violently as my hands close around the steering. I insert the key into the wrong hole and a pained sound tunnels out of my chest.
Where’s my phone? I didn’t even ask for the name of the hospital. I pat my pockets for my phone and a sigh escapes me at my wallpaper. Brianna and the twins. I can’t leave my daughter alone in the house.
Why the fuck did I fire Mia? The pounding of my heart drowns all sounds, my phone slips through my clammy palms to the floor and I punch the steering. Fuck. I need to get it together. I press my fingers to my temples, rubbing them in slow circles until the headache subsides, then I manage to make two calls.
One to El and another to Lydia before speeding out of the house like a thief on the loose.
The traffic is unbelievable. My feet drum into the floor while I wait for the other cars to drive off. Tears stream down my face as I try to force my breathing in control but nothing works.
I am scared.
I turn off the heater and roll down the window. A gust of cold air sweeps into the car and nips at my skin. I welcome it. It’s the only sign I am not numb.
Pressing my jaw to the steering, I honk until the black Benz in front of me honks back and the owner pushes out his hand to show his middle finger. The line is hardly moving, I have half a mind to drive that Benz off the road and blame it on the thin layer of snow coating the road.
My palms tighten around the steering, the phone in the cup holder continuously vibrates but I ignore it. The left lane opens up for those turning into the other part of the road, I swerve into it, leaving a row of cursing drivers and cars honking in my wake. I don’t slow down until I see the signboard of the hospital.
In, out.
In, out.
But my breath refuses to stay under control. Sparing a glance at the rearview mirror, I wipe my eyes dry and pat my hair to give it some definition. She will be okay. She will be fine. I just need to calm down.
The walk to the glass doors is brisk. I throw the doors to the hospital open and dash to the receptionist.
She looks up from the computer with a smile and smoothens the front of her oxblood uniform. “Hi.”
“Hi,” a voice says. I think it’s mine because it comes from me. I take a deep breath. “My daughter...” I choke on the rest of my words, fondling my pockets for my phone. “She was brought in here minutes...”
A tap on my hip stops the rest of my speech, I look down to see Wyn. Her hair is tangled in a messy knot, her eyes are red-rimmed, possibly from crying too much. I lift her, she throws her arms around my neck and another round of tears begin. I pat her back, mumble some jargons but she doesn’t stop crying.
Why is everybody fucking crying?
“Hey,” I say. Her face is buried in my shoulder and her tears soak my shirt. “Princess, where’s Mummy?”
The receptionist is attending to someone else, so I walk back to the reception area. I scan the faces of people on the metal chairs. No El. Wyn is still quiet, annoyingly so and my fingers continue moving on her lower back until her sobs quieten. Nurses in blue uniforms hurry past us, talking to each other and minding their goddamn business. No one volunteers to help. The fucking receptionist is still on the phone.
Why does a hospital like this have only one receptionist? I stand there in the hallway, lost and confused on which way to go. To my left, there’s a door and another to my right. A nurse steps out of the door on my left and disappears down the hall. I do the only thing I can think of, I follow her through that door.
Benches line the white walls. The people waiting here are less than those at the reception. There’s a couple at the far end of the bench. The man has his hand on his woman’s lower back. At intervals, he whispers into her ear but she doesn’t acknowledge him. Her head remains bowed like she can’t bear to look up.
Feeling the weight of carrying Wyn for so long, I make for the bench. He raises his head and my steps falter.
Time slows as our gazes meet. He shakes the woman awake and El throws him an annoyed look. His head jerks towards me, her eyes follow his finger and she scampers to her feet once her gaze lands on me. She covers the distance between us in seconds and tries to pry a sleeping Wyn from me but I am not having it.
Why is that man here with her?
My eyes never leave T. “What happened?” T looks away and I turn to El. She has aged since the last time I saw her. El swallows. I close my eyes briefly. She came to the hospital with another man. “Talk to me.”
El shivers. She sticks one foot out and fists her coat. “They won’t let me see her,” she whispers.
That was not my question.
Wyn grows heavier in my hands, I trudge to the bench to put her down. She stirs in her sleep but doesn’t wake. From my peripheral view, T joins her on the bench and pulls his jacket over her.
I suck in a breath. It is cold. I can’t fault him for looking out for Wyn but my fists still clench. I don’t want him around my girls. El tries to hold me but I swat her hand. If my action hurts her, she does a great job of masking it.
“What happened?” My voice is calmer, I grab her shoulders to avoid her escaping and slouch so we are on the same eye level. She rolls her lip between her teeth. “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Brenwyn?”
No one pays us mind. But I feel T’s gaze on me and my lips curl into a sadistic smirk. El blinks tears coated lashes at me. Is she worth fighting for?
My fingernails dig into her skin, she whimpers and I add more pressure. This is not pain. She doesn’t know pain. And she hasn’t provided an answer to my question.
“I’ll ask you one last time,” I say in an eerily calm voice. Fear flashes across her face. Good. “Where’s Bren?”
El swallows hard. “She’s...” Her eyes remain on me. She licks her lips and tries again. “She’s inside.”
“Inside where?” El tenses. “Where’s inside?”
She never gets a chance to answer. The door on the other end of the room opens and a doctor walks out. His eyes roam the corridor until he spots us and a muscle in his jaw ticks. I release El as he nears us.
He stops beside El, I beat him to speak by asking, “How is she?”
For the first time, he looks up at me. Sizes me from head to toe. “And you are?”
A wave of anger crashes over me. I shove my hands into my pockets. His blonde hair will make a fine noose around his neck. I can hang him from the ceiling with it. I count to ten. He doesn’t know who I am, I try to remind myself. The concern in his voice is justified. He might have assumed T to be El's partner.
“My husband,” El answers on my behalf. She wraps her arms around herself and I shake my head.
Not for long. Not after today.
“Bren’s father,” I correct.
The doctor looks between both of us. He makes for the door he exited minutes ago and we follow behind him like obedient puppies. He starts talking about Bren to El or both of us. She was underwater for an unhealthy amount of time for a child and was brought in cold. They have been trying their best.
Then, try harder. Isn’t that his fucking job?
He continues his explanation and my heart rolls to my stomach. I stop moving when they enter a room but they don’t notice.
I don’t understand.
What is he saying? How did she get into the lake?
Why does he sound like Brianna’s first doctor? That same patronising tone. The pitiful looks that preceded the bad news. They did everything they could. Or so, the doctor said. But she had no pulse. I push forward and step into the room. And I am transported to the past.
It’s all the same.
My daughter on the bed with machines surrounding her and wires connected to her body. There is no blood. There is no gash on Bren’s forehead. She’s not as tiny as Brianna was when she was wheeled in.
One thing is constant. The flat line on the heart monitor.
Seeing that I have not moved from the door, the doctor directs his full attention to El.
God, no.
He is sorry. I know that’s what he is about to say. I try to move but my feet glue to the floor. That familiar rush of helplessness washes over me.
It’s happening again.
It’s happening again and I can’t do anything.
What kind of father am I? My daughter is lifeless on that bed and I can’t do anything.
“She has no pulse,” he says.
His words hang in the air till they develop form and tighten around my neck. I fall to my knees and a sob escapes me. The weight of everything finally settles on me. Shivers wrack my stiff body. The doctor is no longer in the room. El is gripping Bren’s bed, talking to my princess, begging her to wake up for Mummy.
A hollow sound tunnels out of my throat, I grab my head in my hands. Tears fall out of my eyes. El wails. She takes her daughter’s hand between hers and continues crying for her to wake up. My chest tightens. I don’t know if there’s a God but I beg him to bring back my girl. Because if Bren dies, I will die too.