Stable for now
1012 Words
The shrill ring of the phone shattered the peaceful evening like a sudden gust of wind. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, as Max reached out instinctively, grabbing my hand again. The dim glow of the streetlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the table.
I hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached for the phone on the side table, my fingers trembling slightly. The display blinked:
Hospital
Max squeezed my hand gently, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you expecting a call?” he asked softly.
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. It’s from the hospital. My mom’s doctor… I should take it.”
The room seemed to tighten around me as I answered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Hello?”
A calm, professional voice responded on the other end. “Ms. Alina, this is Dr. Carter from St. Mary’s. I wanted to update you on your mother’s condition. She’s stable now, but we need to monitor her closely. She’s asking for you.”
I exhaled a shaky breath, relief washing over me. “Thank you, doctor. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Good. We’ll keep you posted. Please come as soon as you’re able.”
I lowered the phone, feeling Max’s supportive presence right beside me. For a moment, silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant hum of the city outside and my own racing thoughts.
Max reached for my hand again, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. “Hey,” he said softly, “she’s stable. That’s good news, right?”
I nodded, feeling tears prick my eyes again. “Yeah. It’s just… hard. Not knowing exactly what’s next.”
He pulled me into a gentle embrace. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it. Together. You don’t have to do this alone.”
As I stepped away, gathering my coat and keys, I realized how fragile everything felt—how quickly life could change in an instant. But beneath that fear, there was a flicker of strength, a quiet resolve to be there for my mother, for Max, for myself.
Walking out into the cool night air, I looked up at the starry sky, feeling both small and strangely hopeful. Whatever awaited at the hospital, I knew I wouldn’t face it without love—and that made all the difference.
The drive to St. Mary’s Hospital was a blur of headlights and muffled city sounds. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to steady the tremor that refused to quiet. Max sat silently beside me, his presence a steady anchor, offering comfort without words.
The hospital loomed ahead—its pale, sterile facade a stark contrast to the warm glow of our evening just moments ago. As I parked and stepped out, the cool air hit my skin, grounding me momentarily in reality. Max reached for my hand again, his fingers tightening around mine.
Inside, the hospital corridors echoed with distant footsteps and muted voices. The fluorescent lights flickered softly overhead as we approached the nurses' station. A young nurse looked up from her computer and offered a reassuring smile.
“Ms. Alina?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” I managed, my voice trembling. “I’m here to see my mother.”
The nurse nodded. “She’s in Room 214. She’s resting now, but she’s asking for you.”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves, and followed her down the hall. Max stayed close, his hand still firm around mine. When we reached the door, I hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.
My mother was lying on the bed, her face pale but peaceful. Tubes and wires connected her to various machines, their steady beeping a rhythmic reminder of her fragile state. She looked smaller than I remembered—more vulnerable. Yet, her eyes fluttered open as I entered, and she managed a weak smile.
“Mom,” I whispered, rushing to her side.
She reached out a trembling hand, and I grasped it gently. “Alina,” she rasped softly. “You’re here.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, tears threatening to spill over. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Max stepped in quietly, offering her a gentle smile. “You’re strong, Mrs. Carter. We’re all rooting for you.”
My mother looked at him with tired but grateful eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It means everything.”
As I sat beside her, holding her hand, I felt a wave of emotion—fear, hope, love—all tangled together.
My mother’s eyelids fluttered closed briefly, and I watched her breathe steadily, the machines beside her a constant reminder of her fragility. I squeezed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips.
Max stepped closer, offering a quiet presence. “She’s a fighter,” he whispered softly. “She’s come through so much already.”
My eyes welled with tears again, but I quickly blinked them away. “I just wish I could do more,” I said softly, voice cracking. “I feel so helpless.”
My mother opened her eyes again, her gaze meeting mine. “You’re doing enough,” she rasped out. “Just being here—that’s everything.”
A nurse entered quietly, placing a small clipboard on the bedside table. She checked the monitors and offered a reassuring nod. “Her vitals are stable for now, but she needs rest. We’ll keep her monitored closely.”
I nodded, grateful but still overwhelmed. I looked at Max, who gave me a gentle, encouraging smile. “We’ll stay as long as she needs us,” he said softly.
My mother reached out, her hand trembling but determined, and grasped mine again. “Promise me something,” she whispered. “Don’t lose sight of what matters. Family. Love. The small moments that make life worth living.”
“I promise,” I whispered back, feeling the weight of her words settle deep inside me.
- Writer
