Page 68 of I’m Already Gone

“Fuck.” I push off the house and scramble back to the door, my mind racing through a hundred worst-case scenarios. I fumble for my phone, my fingers slick with sweat as I start to dial 9-1-1, when Ollie’s cries, coming closer, intensify. I hear the sound of the doorknob being jiggled from the inside.

“Ollie, it’s me, Ethan. Can you open the door for me?” I call out.

“Ethan!” he wails, the sound tearing through me. “Mama isn’t waking up!”

My heart plummets, and my knees feel weak.

“Hey, buddy, can you open the door for me?” I ask again, forcing the words out, trying for calm, but inside, I am a fucking mess.

The doorknob jiggles again. “I can’t open it,” Ollie cries.

Fuck. I forgot about the deadbolt.

I pace, frantic, my foot catching on something. It’s the goddamn ceramic gnome Lily insisted on when we were married. She still kept it. As it topples over, something glints in the light. My breath hitches. The spare key. It’s tucked neatly under its mushroom cap.

I snatch it up and shove it into the lock. The click is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

“I’m coming in, bud!” I call out. The moment the door swings open, Ollie flies into my arms. He clings to me and buries his face in my shoulder, his small body wracked with sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, little man. I’m here,” I murmur, pulling him tight against me.

“Where’s your mom?”

“In the bedroom,” he cries.

“Okay,” I soothe, my hand stroking his back. “Let’s go take a look.”

We rush down the short hallway, the floorboards creaking under my weight. I push open the bedroom door and feel the ground opening beneath me, ready to swallow me whole into my personal hell.

Lily.

She’s lying on the floor face down, a crumpled heap next to the bed.

No. No, no, no.

I gently set Ollie down, kneeling so I am eye level with him, and grip his shoulders. “I need you to stay here, okay? Right here by the door. I need to check on your mom.”

He nods, his eyes wide and red-rimmed, a fresh sniffle escaping him.

I press a kiss to his forehead, ruffling his hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

I rush across the room and drop to my knees beside Lily. Her skin is unnaturally pale, almost translucent in the dim light, and cool to the touch. I search for a pulse on her wrist. One agonizing second stretches into two, then three… And then a faint, thready beat, a whisper of life beneath my thumb. A shuddering sigh escapes my lips.

“Lily? Can you hear me?” I whisper.

A low groan, a small shift of her head.

Alive. She’s alive.

The fluorescent lights in the emergency room waiting area buzz overhead. Ollie leans heavily against me, his small voice breaking through the tension. “I wanna see Mama.”

“We’ll see her soon, buddy,” I promise.

A nurse, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, emerges from the double doors. “Hi. Are you Lily’s husband?” she asks.

“Yes,” I answer automatically. Even after the divorce, after everything, that word still feels like the truth.

“She’s going to be fine,” the nurse begins, a reassuring smile on her face. “This frequently happens after a patient goes through chemo treatment⁠—”