I didn't sleep. I know I must have — time had passed — but I didn't feel it. It was like I blinked and the sun barged into the sky without asking.
The machines still hummed. The hallway buzzed faintly with the changing shift. The clock above the door ticked like it always had. Like nothing had changed. Like no man had ever stood at the foot of my son's bed with a voice made of endings.
He was still breathing. That would have been enough to me, any other day, but not today.
My eyes wouldn't stop drifting toward the corner. There was nothing there, of course. Just air and shadow and the quiet plastic chair I didn't remember seeing yesterday. But I stared anyway. Like maybe the man would reappear — like a ghost, maybe I could have it go away by naming it out loud or spotting it in the daylight.
But I couldn't. I didn't even know if it was real. He hadn't touched anything. He hadn't moved toward me. But he'd seen me. And I had seen him. I remember him, but at the same time, not. It all feels like a dream, but at the same time, if it was a dream, it was too real to ignore.
I sat straighter than usual that morning. The nurses smiled, asked if I'd slept. I lied. My son was awake, even cheerful — a rare, sharp light cutting through the haze in his eyes. He asked for his colouring book. Drew the ocean again. All blue scribbles and orange suns and boats with sails like crooked teeth.
I told myself again and again to focus on that. Focus on what's here. Real. Warm. Breathing.
But when the hallway lights flickered, I didn't move; when the machine stuttered, even for a millisecond, I held my breath. I was stuck in a loop of endless watching and waiting. I knew he would be back, but at the same time, I felt like he was never gone.
However, reality has a way to take us away from foolish thoughts, as the clock warned it was time for me to leave my son and work. Hospital Bills won't pay themselves. I kissed my son goodbye and talked briefly with the nurses to reassure them I would be back later, like always.
"Please make sure someone goes to the room every few minutes."
"Why the worry, Ms.Brooke? Caleb seems great this morning. I am sure he will be even better-"
"Please, just this time." I couldn't afford to be convinced otherwise. Not when it was about my son.
"Sure Ms.Brooke, I will make sure to be there for him."
"Thank you. I will see you later."
When Calen was born, I knew my life wouldn't be the same. Not in the sense that I was a mother now and would never be alone again, but in the sense that I would now live and fight with the sole purpose of him breathing another day. Born early and with an infinite list of health problems, he was fragile and far too small, but from that moment, I knew I would protect him and do whatever was necessary for him.
Before my pregnancy, I was a brilliant detective, specialising in criminal cases. I loved my job. Deeply. But not more than I love my son, detective hours don't match well with a sick child, so I begged my department to demote me to a desk job instead, so I could do what I love to some extent. And that was granted.
Now my days are filled with paperwork of cold cases and boring reports. It's not what I wanted, it's not how I imagined my life to turn out, but I wouldn't change a thing. Thanks to this job, thanks to these hours, I can afford to care for Caleb, I can visit him, I can be with him.
I don't need the fancy titles, complicated murder scenes, or thrilling pursuits. I need my boy, healthy, happy and by my side.
"Good day, Lily!"
"Oh, Good day, Carther."
Cather was my desk mate, we worked together for longer than I can remember, but he never wanted to rise above his desk job, he says it's where the 'easy bucks' are. He was well into his 30s, a sturdy build, with tan skin and short black hair. His green eyes were the most remarkable feature in his face.
"I warn you, slow day today. Better grab a cup of coffee to keep yourself awake." He winked at me. I guess it shows I didn't really sleep much.
"Thanks"
After grabbing a cup of black coffee I sat at my desk and started accessing the documents, motions I have been doing for the last 5 years feel automatic by now, due to the mechanical and monotonous movements, my mind quickly drifted to the man I saw that night.
"Who was he..." I muttered.
While trying to convince myself that it was a person. It looked like a person, it talked like a person, and it dressed like a person. But it didn't feel human. Something in me wouldn't accept such an answer. My mind drifted further.
If not human, what is it? A ghost? A demon? A magician? It didn't take anything, it didn't cause any harm, but I couldn't shake the feeling it wasn't good.
"It felt like... the grief," I muttered again.
"What felt like the end?" Carther asked.
"Oh, nothing, I just got lost in thought for a second."
"I see... How- How is he?"
"Oh... He is... stable." I hated myself for using that word.
"Ah I see! That is... good news? Right?"
I hesitated to answer, was it truly? It just means he wouldn't die right now; it didn't mean he was getting better, that the treatment was working, or that I would see him walk again. It just meant I got a few hours more.
But that wasn't Carter's burden to bear, so I smiled and nodded. "...Yes, it is."