Chapter 5
Inside Northwestern Memorial Hospital, Vincent and Luke were urging Tessa to get a
check-up.
A flicker of guilt crossed Tessa’s face. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. I’m not injured, so I
don’t need a check-up.”
His mind went completely blank.
“You’re so forgetful. Come on, let’s take it back to her.”
“What else? I told them to ignore Vincent and keep the door locked. Oh, you should have
seen Isabella’s face when she found her sister’s frozen body.” The voice was followed by
a peel of cruel laughter.
Laughter drifted from under the door.
He massaged his temple. Forget it, he thought. I’ll coax her a little next time. She won’t
stay mad.
A sharp, needle-like pain shot from Vincent’s heart to his head.
A flash of impatience crossed Tessa’s face. She grabbed a new storybook from a nearby table and dismissively shoved it into Luke’s hands. “You can look at the pictures for now. When Aunt Tessa is better, I’ll read it to you.”
He didn’t know why.
He couldn’t recall ever seeing that expression on her face.
“Oops! I forgot to give this back to Aunt Tessa!”
A roar filled his ears.
His young mind couldn’t yet comprehend the true meaning of loss.
Luke pouted. “But Aunt Tessa, you haven’t read me a fairy tale in so long…”
Vincent ruffled his son’s hair.
Mila… dead?
Thinking of this, he felt as if a piece of his heart had been carved out.
Just as they were about to push it open, they heard a voice from inside.
Seeing the worry still etched on Vincent’s face, Tessa stood and gently ushered them toward the door. “Alright, you two, stop worrying. You’ve been here for days. Go home
and get some real rest.”
Suddenly, Luke pulled an ID card from his pocket.
He only knew that an ache had settled in his chest. He missed his mom.
They walked back to the hospital room door.
Beside him, a vein in Vincent’s temple began to throb.
Leaving the hospital room, the father and son walked toward the main entrance.
“A lung transplant isn’t something to take lightly,” Vincent said. “You shouldn’t be out and about already. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
But the image from a few hours ago kept replaying in his mind: Isabella, utterly broken, collapsing to the ground with a look of pure agony.
Luke stared blankly at the copy of Andersen’s Fairy Tales in his hands.
“So you really just let Mila freeze to death in that cold storage?”
He remembered pestering his mom to read him this exact book, back when the words were just squiggles to him. It never mattered what she was doing; she would drop everything to read to him, her patient voice washing over him until he was content.
What did she just say?
