Page 322 of Wicked Brutal

The doctor pauses. Then her expression softens. “That’s the important part. But if you’re asking what people forget—“ She looks at Ally. “Emotional support.” I stop typing. “She lost her mother today. She was assaulted. She may have reactions over the next hours and days that neither of you expect. Fear. Anger. Panic. Numbness. She needs support for that too.”

I type it. Trauma support.

Darla moves beside me. “I’m handling that.”

“I’ll help. Tell me what to do.”

“Ryan.” Her face softens.

“Tell me the things I can do.”

Darla looks at me for a long second. Then crouches beside my chair. “Stay. Listen when she tells you what she needs. Don’t decide what she’s supposed to feel. Don’t make her talk when she doesn’t want to. Don’t panic if she cries. Don’t panic if she doesn’t.”

I type it. Darla sees me doing it, and her face breaks. “Jesus, Ryan. You don’t have to write that part down.”

“Yes, I do.” My voice cracks. “Because I don’t know how to do this.” Nobody says anything. I stare at the screen. The words blur. “I don’t know how to help somebody whose mom just died. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” Mom starts crying again. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Darla puts her hand over mine. “Neither do we.” I look at her. She’s crying too. “There’s no right way to do this.”

“I need one. I need something.”

“I know.” She squeezes my hand. “So start with staying.”

I look at Ally. She’s crying silently. Watching me. “Okay.”

I type one more word. Stay. Then lock my phone.

The doctor goes through discharge again. I make her repeat two things. Darla catches something I miss. Mom asks about follow-up. I write down every number — the OB office, the ER, the doctor’s name, the medication and dosage and the time they gave it, the heartbeat. I already wrote the heartbeat down. I check anyway. Still there. Then I screenshot the whole note and send it to myself, to Mom, to Darla. Because phones die and things get deleted and people forget. I’m not forgetting a fucking thing.

Eventually the doctor leaves. The room gets quiet. Ally has the new ultrasound pictures in her lap, her thumb tracing the edge of one. I watch her for a while.

Then she whispers, “Where’s Tobias?”

There it is. “At home.”

“Our house?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s with him?”

“Everybody. Dad hasn’t left him.”

“My Walter.” Her voice cracks on it.

“Yeah. Danny hasn’t left either, not since he carried him over. Becca’s there. Katya too.”

Her body loosens by maybe half an inch with each name. “Katya’s good with him. She doesn’t make him talk. She just sits with you.”

Something passes across Darla’s face. “No,” Darla says softly. “She won’t.”

Ally looks down at the ultrasound pictures. “Does he know?” Nobody moves. Her eyes lift. “Ryan.”

“No.”

Her lips part. “He doesn’t know Mom died?”

“No. Dad wouldn’t let anybody tell him.” She stares at me. “He said that’s your decision. Whether you tell Tobias. Whether you want Dad there. Or Darla. Mom. Me. Everybody. Nobody.” I bring her hand to my mouth. “And if you can’t do it, you say that, and one of us does it for you.”