Page 37 of My Cruel Billionaire

“Damon, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Everybody says I’m really brave. They gave me a lollipop, see?”

“What happened to Gramma?”

His face scrunched up with concentration as he recalled the memory.

“She got really tired, and laid down on the couch for a nap. After a while she asked me to hand her the phone, and then she dialed nine one one, and then I got to ride in the ambulance with her.”

I hugged him tight and tousled his hair.

“You’re a very brave boy.”

A man in a white lab coat came out of the door. I assumed he was the doctor, and I wound up being right. I turned to face him as he approached me.

“Are you the daughter? Jenna Malone?”

“That’s me,” I said, my voice sounding very small in my ears. “What’s happened to my mother?”

“She had a slight myocardial infarction, is our best guess. Her heart stopped beating with a regular rhythm.”

“Oh no,” I gasped. “Is she going to need a transplant?”

“No, we’re not at that point yet,” the doctor replied. “We were able to use controlled microwave bursts to correct the heart’s contractions, but once this problem starts it tends to get worse over time. I’m afraid the long-term treatment options are rather limited.”

“What brought this on?” I asked. “Is it genetics? Should I be getting myself and my son tested?”

The doctor sighed, and looked down at his chart for a moment. Then he tucked his pen behind his ear and gave me a look that said he was about to be frank.

“To be honest with you, ma'am, I don’t think genetics are to blame here. Your mother’s medical records indicate that she’s never had a history of heart disease. I believe her advanced age is to blame.”

He flipped through a couple of pages in his file folder. Her advanced age? My mom wasn’t that old, was she…?

Then it hit me, that mom had me kind of late, and was in her seventies now. That’s retirement age. Past it even.

“According to her intake at the reception desk, your mother babysits your four-year-old son for upwards of fifty hours per week. That’s a hard schedule for a woman her age to maintain, healthy heart or no.”

I felt my stomach bottom out. I’d done this to my mother. I’d put her in the hospital by foisting my rambunctious son off on her whenever it was convenient for me. All so I could pursue my dreams.

“Is she okay? Can I see her?” I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Damon frowned up at me and held my hand a little bit tighter.

“To answer your first question, her condition is no longer critical but she needs rest, and to be monitored while she gets it. To answer your second question, you can see her for a couple of minutes, not more. In my presence.”

“You go ahead,” Michael said, moving over to sit beside Damon. “Damon and I will finish coloring in this picture of Superman.”

“It’s Iron Man, they’re totally different,” Damon said.

“Thank you.” I nodded to Michael. I would not forget this moment when he was there for me no questions asked.

I went into my mother’s room. The smell of the place assaulted my senses. It was clean, but it had that intense ‘hospital smell’ to it. My mother’s form lay on the bed, her head lolled to the side, eyes tightly shut.

She looked so small, and so frail, that I started weeping silently. There were devices hooked up to her monitoring her vitals. An IV dripped fluid slowly into her veins. I wasn't used to seeing my mother like this. She’d always been among the most hale and healthy people I’d known.

Now I felt the crushing weight of guilt come down on my shoulders. I had done this to my mother. Me, and no one else. I had pushed her too far, asked too much. This was the result.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, going to her and taking the hand not hooked up to an IV. At least her hand was warm. That was good. Living people were warm.

“I shouldn’t have put all of my problems on you. I’m so sorry for that. Please be okay. Please.”

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