The white corridors of St. Mary's Hospital smelled faintly of disinfectant and something else Sky couldn't name—sterility mixed with a quiet kind of fear. Every step echoed, each one heavier than the last as he followed the nurse down the hallway. His earpods were still around his neck, silent now, dangling like a forgotten accessory.
When the nurse stopped in front of a door marked Dr. Jensen, Sky hesitated for a second before pushing it open.
The doctor was already waiting, a calm but unreadable expression on his face. He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
"Sit down, Sky," Dr. Jensen said softly. "We need to talk about your grandmother."
Sky sat, his hands gripping his knees to keep them from shaking.
The doctor's voice was calm, measured. "Your grandmother suffered a neck femoral fracture from the fall. It's serious, and she'll need surgery immediately to repair it. We've already scheduled the orthopedic team, but that's not all…"
Sky's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not all?"
Dr. Jensen's gaze softened with the kind of pity Sky hated. "During her scans, we found something else—early-stage cancer. She's going to need proper medication and treatment once she recovers from surgery. It won't be easy, but… there's a chance if we start now."
The words seemed to echo, each one heavier than the last. Surgery. Cancer. Chance.
Sky swallowed hard, his throat dry. "So, you're saying she's… she's fighting two battles at once."
"I'm afraid so," the doctor replied gently. "You're her only immediate family, Sky. We'll need your consent to move forward."
He nodded numbly. "Do whatever you have to do."
The moment he left the office, the weight of it all pressed down like an avalanche. He didn't go back to the waiting area. He didn't go to the cafeteria. He just kept walking until he found the side entrance, where a lonely bench sat under the shade of an old oak tree.
Sky sat down, elbows on his knees, staring at the pavement without really seeing it. The hum of the hospital faded into the background as memories began to rush in—uninvited, unrelenting.
He thought of his father. How life had been good once—simple, warm, almost perfect. His father had been his hero, the man who taught him to ride a bike, who clapped the loudest at his school plays, who told him bedtime stories about knights and kingdoms.
And then, one day, that hero was gone.
The flashing lights. The police sirens. The sight of his father being dragged away in handcuffs while neighbors whispered. Murder. Kidnapping. Words a child should never hear about their own father. The trial had been all over the news—Sky's surname spat out like poison on TV. His father was sentenced to life in prison, and the world never let Sky forget it.
His mother had tried to hold it together, to keep the pieces of their broken life glued just enough to survive. But grief had a way of taking the wheel. One rainy night, she lost control of her car. Sky was sixteen. He didn't even get to say goodbye.
And now… now there was only his grandmother. His rock. His reason. His last tether to a family that wasn't made of ghosts.
The reality of possibly losing her too hit him like a punch to the chest. His breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, Sky didn't fight the tears. He let them fall—hot, unsteady, angry at a world that kept taking from him.
Under the shadow of the oak tree, Sky Blackwood broke.
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