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My fingers stroke her arm as she rips the top paper, tossing it to the side before writing something on the fresh one underneath.
It hurts too much when I try to speak. No surgery though.
She forces a tight smile and holds up her thumb at thegood news.
I’m both relieved and sick with guilt. My father did this to her. He nearly killed her, but it’s so hard to feel blessed when I know it’s my fault this happened in the first place.
“I hate this,” I mutter, brushing her hair from her face. Seeing her in this hospital bed, in pain. It kills me. “I’m so sorry, Peaches.”
Her brows furrow inward. “You saved me,” she mouths, her voice nothing but air.
“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
Shaking her head, she looks dissatisfied with that argument. “Stop,” she whispers, holding her hand out. Then she scribbles on the pad again, and my heart breaks at the words she shows me.
You were there.
Then she scribbles below them.
I love you.
When she glances back up at me, her eyes are moist with tears, so I pull her mouth to mine for a tender kiss, careful not to hurt her. Shifting over on the bed, she pats the space next to her for me to sit.
I stretch out in the empty space and pull her into my arms, kissing the top of her head and stroking her arm with affection. For a while, we lie there in silence, mostly because there isn’t much to say that would outweigh the severity of this moment. But also because Sage can’t talk and I don’t have anything worth saying.
Eventually I’ll tell Sage how I came clean to my family. And how my father cried while the police cuffed him. But for now, the moment belongs to us. And there’s nothing fake about it.
It was never fake to me.
I don’t even remember drifting off, but sometime later, the nurses come in to check on Sage. When she complains about the pain, they offer her something in her IV, and I pressure her to take it. I notice how gentle they are with her, careful and nurturing in their treatment.
It’s another few minutes before the doctor comes in. He tells us that she should be cleared to go home in the morning as long as they can keep the swelling down. When he mentions having to scope her again, Sage grimaces, and I pray that that’s not the case. Then I’m assaulted with shame for not being here the first time she had to endure that.
I step out into the hall for a moment to make some calls. First, my mother to assure her that Sage is stable and should be able to go home tomorrow. Then, I call Gladys. It hurts to make the call, but I know she’s the closest thing Sage has to a mother, and she deserves to know that someone she loves is in the hospital. Telling her that it was my father makes me feel like the lowest piece of scum on the earth.
“That sonofabitch,” Gladys barks into the phone. Her voice is laced with anger and pain when I break the news, but it feels strangely nice to know someone cares about Sage so much. That Sage is never truly alone, even if her own mother isn’t there for her.
“If you could keep Roscoe tonight, we’ll hopefully be home in the morning.”
“They're gonna let you stay all night?” she asks with hope in her voice.
“They’re going to have a hell of a time trying to get me to leave,” I reply with a dry laugh.
“Give ’em hell.”
“Thanks, Gladys. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thank you, baby. And, Adam…” she says.
“Yeah?” I reply.
“You’re lucky to have each other.”
Truer words have never been spoken, I think as I stare into the hospital room at Sage on the bed.
“I agree. Night, Gladys.”
After I hang up the phone, I drop it on the table next to the bed. Then I climb back in next to her, kissing the top of her head.
