The tone in her voice was that of empathy and consideration for my mother. I felt pride swell inside me that she could see it before being a legal adult herself. Shame crept in quietly. I was acting selfishly, and I wasn’t checking in on my family.
The only person who had been there for me throughout all of this was my mom. She had been the worrier for the two of us, the medication freak, the researcher on new inventive ways to treat my incurable disease, and by far, the most supportive friend I’ve ever had. She was my mother, but she soon became more of a friend.
“Why did Wyatt…” I couldn’t finish my question.
Mila understood.
She crossed her legs and faced me on the couch. “Wyatt was struggling—as you know—as a surgeon lately. He made a catastrophic error in surgery, and the patient died on the table. I guess he just couldn’t take it anymore, carrying that type of guilt. The amount of pressure he must’ve carried. He probably feels like he murdered someone. And, I guess, maybe he did in some way.”
The wordmurderdidn’t sound right. It felt harsh. My brother was no murderer.
But hedidconfess to being an average at best surgeon. Guilt wasn’t worried about the facts. He knew himself well enough that he wasn’t doing the work at the level it needed to be. I watched all the hours of studying and testing he went through. The schooling, the rigorous work he was put through. I know it wasn’t for lack of trying.
Murderer. I’m sure that was how he felt.
Thoughts ran through my brain like a marathon. I couldn’t decide what to ask Mila, not wanting to overload her with an interrogation, but I had to know.
“Who found him?” I finally asked.
Mila’s shoulders slumped. The pain written across her face she attempted to mask.
“I did.”
Her voice croaked, but she made every attempt to not cry.
She slowed her breath and stared at the ceiling. She pleaded with herself to hold it together. A once plump cheek almost deflated with dark circles under her eyes from the stress she carried. I pulled her in for a hug. It was then that she felt okay enough to let it all out. Her body shook with the trauma of the nightmare she just lived through.
Mila was entering into this family full of her own pain. The loss of her mother. Uprooting her entire life to move in with a father she never knew. And now? Now she had a defective brother who would likely die soon, a brother who was suicidal and, to top it off, a new step-mom.
Fuck.
Shortly after the outburst of tears, Mila pulled away from my chest.
“I went over because he told me I could go anytime. I was feeling…out of place here. I’m grateful that you guys took me inwhen I didn’t have a home, but…it’s not mine. I miss my mom. I miss the smell of her. I miss the smell of her cooking and her hugs and…” Her voice wavered.
Before she could finish her sentence, the tears took away her voice. Her face collided in my chest once more.
I shushed her while rubbing her shoulder. I didn’t know if I was doing an okay job of comforting her or not. But it was the best I could do.
“I’m so sorry, Mila. I’m so sorry I haven’t been around,” I whispered.
She cleared her throat, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I knocked on the door and there was no answer. But the car was in the driveway, and he gave me a spare key. I figured I could just go in.”
Her breathing became erratic.
“I am so glad I did, but also, a selfish part of me wished I’d never seen that. He was turning blue… He was going to—” she began hyperventilating once again. “He was going to die, Asher. He was lying there on the floor and everything, still semi-conscious. The—the look on his face was everything horrible you could feel. Desperate. Sad. Shame. Fear. All of it.”
The words she got out were choked. “Mila. I’m so glad you were there, but it’s not fair that you had to see that. You are so incredibly brave to have saved his life, you know that?”
“I think he got fired,” she finally said.
That settled something dark within me. It was his fault then. Something must have been missed. Something critical. Something so important he shouldn’t have missed it. Fuck.
Of all the surgeries I had, not one surgeon fucked up. I am still living because of their dedication to perfection. There was no room for error.
Moments passed, and Mila finally calmed down. She was stable, tired from the discussion we just had.
“Where have you been, Asher?” she asked, treading lightly. “I assume this isn’t your norm since your mom has been so up in arms about you being out, even though you’re a full-ass adult.”
