Laney gasps, and I quickly move to her side, wrapping my arm around her waist for support.
“She’s been given several different antibiotics at the care facility, but none have shown any improvement. There’s one more we can try, but I need to warn you, she’s been on them since her arrival, and there’s been no change so far.”
“What happens if these antibiotics don’t work?” Laney asks, and I pull her tighter against me.
Dr. Lawson looks at me, silently asking for permission to explain. I already know what that means, and as hard as it is, I know Laney needs to hear it too. I nod, and his gaze goes from me to Laney.
“Laney, if these antibiotics don’t work, we won’t be able to stop the infection. Her body is already weakened from the coma,and unless these medications take effect soon, her body won’t have the strength to fight.”
Laney presses her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob, and my heart breaks for her. I wish more than anything I could take this pain away.
“She’s going to die?” she whispers, her voice trembling as she hides behind her hand.
“She’s very sick. I’m sorry, Laney,” Dr. Lawson says gently.
“Can we see her?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.
“Of course. I’ll have a nurse come in and escort you to her. Just… don’t be shocked when you see her. She’s connected to several machines, but they’re all trying to help her.”
I nod in understanding, and he exits the room. I gently guide Laney to a chair, sitting her down before dropping to my knees in front of her.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, my hand reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear.
Tears spill down her face, and I gently wipe them away. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” I say, my voice breaking.
“She can’t die, Dad. It’s not fair,” she says, her voice cracking.
I pull her into me, my chest tightening at the depth of her grief. In the beginning, we all believed Molly would wake up. But as the years passed and the reality sank in, that belief started to fade.
By the time the nurse arrives to take us, Laney has regained some composure, holding tightly to my hand as we follow her down the hallway and into one of the side rooms.
“If you need anything,” the nurse says, “just press the call button. I’ll give you some time with her.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, my gaze fixed on Molly. She looks so small and fragile lying in the hospital bed, her body barely visible beneath the crisp white sheets.
Laney hurries to Molly’s side, gently taking Molly’s hand in hers.
“Her hand is so cold,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “And she looks so pale.”
I move to the other side of the bed, taking Molly’s other hand. Laney’s right; her hands are cold. Cold, but clammy. It must be the infection.
“She wasn’t like this on Thursday,” I say softly.
“You visited Mom on Thursday?” Laney’s voice is tinged with surprise. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I was in Phoenix for the conference, so I stopped by to see her.”
Her gaze drops to Molly’s hand, her thumb tracing gentle circles over her pale skin.
“Did you tell her about Ash?” she asks quietly.
I let out a slow sigh and nod. “I thought she deserved to know.”
When Molly first had the accident, the doctors encouraged us to keep talking to her, to share our lives as if she could still hear every word. So, we did. Year after year, Laney and I would sit beside her, filling the silence with stories of birthdays, graduations; all the moments that made up Laney’s life. If there was even a chance she was listening, a chance she might one day open her eyes, we wanted her to feel like she was still a part of it all… like she hadn’t missed everything.
“She’s giving up,” Laney whispers.
I look up sharply, meeting her tear-filled gaze. “No, Laney…”
