Page 69 of Single Mom's Daddies
I want to punch a wall and weep. She’s too brave. Too used to this.
When the nurse leaves again, Saffron rises. “We’re going to let you rest, okay?”
Ivy yawns again, nods, and rolls over. “Have a good day, everyone.”
Roman walks over and smooths her blanket gently. Victor squeezes Saffron’s shoulder as we head out. I linger a second longer.
Ivy looks up at me one more time. “Bye, Nikolai.”
My chest tightens. “Sleep well, Ivy.”
Then I follow them out, ready to rig a transplant list.
17
SAFFRON
I siton the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at nothing.
The cottage is too quiet. I thought I’d miss silence, back when Ivy was first admitted again. Thought I’d crave it, maybe even enjoy it—like a vacation from monitors and beeping IV pumps and the mechanical hiss of oxygen. But now that I have it? Now that the walls don’t echo with her tiny cough or her stories about cartoon ducks or the rustle of her sheets as she rolls over in her sleep?
I hate it.
Silence is worse than noise. Noise means life.
And right now, silence means she’s not here.
I glance toward the hospital discharge packet still sitting on the kitchen table, unopened since yesterday. It doesn’t matter. We were so close—so damn close to bringing her home, even if just for a while. But close doesn’t count in heart failure. It doesn’t buy you minutes. It doesn’t let you sleep in your own bed.
It doesn’t let your kid sleep in hers.
I scrub both hands over my face, drag in a breath that barely fills my chest, and reach for my phone.
There’s only one person I can call right now.
I find his name easily in my contacts.Grampa.
He answers on the third ring with a cough and a grumble. “You better not be a telemarketer. I swear to God, I’ll throw this phone in the garbage.”
“It’s me,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, hell,” he says, instantly softer. “Hey, baby girl.”
I close my eyes.
I haven’t talked to him in two weeks. Not since I moved in here. I didn’t want to lie to him—not completely—but I also didn’t want to tell him the truth. Not yet. Not until I knew what the truth reallywas.
“What’s new?” he asks.
“Got a new job. I’m nannying. For a very wealthy family.”
Another pause.
“You?” he says, like he’s squinting into the receiver. “You got a nanny job?”
“Yeah.”
“They got any idea what they’re in for?”
