Page 62 of Ruthless Serenade

I glance at Sharon, curled up on the bed. Her face is pale and streaked with tears. "Yes, she’s conscious, but she’s in a lot of pain. Please hurry."

As I hang up the phone and return to Sharon’s room to hold her trembling body, my mind whirls with a series of fears. What if it’s something serious? What if it’s not just the chocolate she ate? As usual, my mind conjures up worst-case scenarios: appendicitis, food poisoning, a rare disease I’ve never even heard of. The fear is almost paralyzing.

Your panicking isn’t going to help, Mindy!

It will only make matters worse!

Suddenly, unbidden thoughts of Maron surface. Would he be here if he knew? Would he pace the floor, his eyes wild with worry for his daughter? Or would he be as absent in this crisis just the way he’s been for the past seven years?

Oh my God, Mindy, stop it!

The wail of approaching sirens jolts me back to the present. I look down at Sharon - her face is still pale and pinchedwith pain. "Help is here, baby," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Mommy’s got you. Everything’s going to be okay."

The distant wail of sirens grows louder. Flashing lights burst through the gaps in our curtains, painting the walls in a frantic dance of red and blue. The screech of brakes echoes through the quiet of the night, followed by the slamming of car doors and the urgent sound of footsteps on the stairs.

A sharp knock on the door startles me.

"Paramedics!" a voice calls out. I rush to open the door, cradling Sharon in my arms. "Good evening, ma’am," the two uniformed paramedics move in immediately as I open the door. "My name is Tom, and this is my colleague, Barbara." He looks at my baby girl. "And this is our little patient, right?"

I nod. "Sharon." I gently lower her on the couch. She clings to me tightly, as if her life depended on it.

"Hey, Sharon," Tom says, then looks at me. "Can you tell us what happened?"

I quickly explain everything, making sure to mention every important detail. The chocolate, how she skipped dinner, and how she woke up in the middle of the night, crying.

"Was there any vomiting or fever?" The woman asks, checking Sharon’s vitals.

"No, just the pain," I shake my head, fighting tears.

"Alright, let’s get this young lady to the hospital," the man says. "We can’t be sure what it is until we properly examine her."

Hospital?

Oh, God.

Sensing my distress the woman’s hand lands gently on my shoulder. "It's alright, ma’am," she reassures me. "Children are resilient; they bounce back quickly. We’ll do everything we can to help her."

A quiet ‘thank you’ and a nod is all I can manage.

"Mr. Hoppy," Sharon whispers and I run like a madwoman to fetch her the old, beat-up bunny from her room.

"Don’t worry, your daughter will get the best care," the woman reassures me again.

As they prepare to lift Sharon onto the stretcher, I grab my sports jacket, catching a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror - a pale, disheveled mother stares back, eyes wide with panic.

"Ready for transport," the guy announces, locking the stretcher into place. A moment later, we’re on the move. Out the door, down the stairs, into the back of the ambulance.

"Buckle up, ma’am," The woman says, and I robotically follow her instructions.

The siren starts up again, loud and insistent, and we’re speeding off into the night. The back of the ambulance turns into a blur of activity, hands checking vitals, adjusting IVs, all while the vehicle sways and bumps beneath us.

As we tear through the dark streets, I can’t take my eyes off Sharon’s fragile form. I’m squeezed into a corner in the back of the ambulance, clutching my daughter’s small hand as if it were the last tether holding me to hope. The flashing red and blue lights cast an eerie glow over her pale face, washing it in shadows and colors that make her look hauntingly otherworldly. In that unsettling light, a thought creeps into my mind: one I wish I could push away but it lodges itself deep inside me.

It’s obscure in its meaning, yet somehow, I’m certain it holds a truth I can’t ignore.

Things will never be the same after tonight.

I have no idea what that means.

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