Chapter 8
Milena swayed unsteadily.
Matthew reached out to steady her.
"How could this happen? Didn't you say everything was under control?" Milena asked.
Kelvin explained, "Our pre-op assessment showed everything was under control, but things can always go wrong unexpectedly during surgery. We did everything we could."
Milena slumped back into her chair, her face drained of color.
It wasn't sadness.
It was fear.
Matthew's phone rang.
He answered it.
On the other end, someone said, "Mr. Powell, there was an accident during the surgery. Mrs. Powell... she didn't make it."
There was a long silence on the other end.
Then Oscar's voice came through.
His tone was flat. "What about Georgia's surgery?"
Matthew opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"Mr. Powell, Mrs. Powell passed away," Matthew said.
"I'm asking you. Can Georgia's surgery still happen or not?" Oscar pressed.
Matthew swallowed hard. "We've got the liver ready. The transplant can go ahead as scheduled."
"Proceed," Oscar replied.
The call ended.
At the end of the hallway, a nurse was slowly pushing Georgia's wheelchair into the pre-op room next to the operating theater.
As Georgia passed my operating room, the wheelchair paused for a moment.
Georgia whispered, "Thanks, Jennifer."
Her voice sounded like it did before she went in for surgery.
Her smile was the same.
As Georgia was being wheeled into the pre-op room at the end of the hallway, Kelvin had escorted me out through the back door of the operating theater.
The isolation room was dimly lit.
When I woke up, the anesthesia hadn't fully worn off yet, and my head felt foggy, like I was wrapped in a haze.
Someone gently supported my back.
"Don't move. The anesthesia's still in your system," Nora said.
I blinked a few times, and my vision slowly cleared.
In front of me was a makeshift hospital bed. The room was cramped, lined with cabinets along one wall, and had no window.
"Let's go," Nora said, throwing an oversized coat over my shoulders and tugging a baseball cap down to cover my hair.
"Can you stand?" she asked.
I gripped the bedrail and managed to stand. My stomach felt like a weight was pulling me down, and the shallow wound on my abdomen stung a little.
"Take it slow," Nora said.
She wrapped one arm around my waist for support and pushed open the door on the other side of the isolation room.
Outside was a narrow corridor, usually used for hauling medical waste. At the end was a service elevator.
Nora steadied me as we got into the elevator and hit the button for the basement level.
The doors opened to the underground parking garage.
We took a left and walked less than 160 feet down the dim corridor.
A white van was waiting for us.
The door opened from the inside. Behind the wheel was a young guy in his twenties, with a round face and a nervous look.
"Nora," he called out to Nora.
"Drive. Take the east exit," Nora said.
With Nora helping me, I got into the back of the van.
The van rumbled to life and pulled away.
I sat in the back, my back against the seat, holding my belly.
Through the window, I watched as the hospital faded from sight.
It'd been three years.
From today onward, I was no longer Oscar's wife.
I was no longer the Powell family's stand-in.
I was no longer someone anyone could throw away.
I shut my eyes for a second, letting everything sink in.
And then I opened them again.
Nora glanced back at me from the passenger seat.
"How are you doing? Feeling fine?" she asked.
"I'm okay," I said.
"Come on, your face is as pale as a sheet," Nora said.
"It's nothing. I can tough it out," I replied.
She pulled a small pill bottle from her bag, shook out two pills, and handed them to me.
"Here, take these for the pain. We'll change your meds when we get there," Nora said.
I took them and swallowed them dry.
The van turned onto a suburban road, heading out toward the edge of the city.
Forty minutes later, we pulled up in front of a private clinic with no sign out front.
Nora helped me out of the van.
The clinic owner was a woman in her fifties, dressed in a floral blouse with graying hair.
When she saw me come in with my stomach protruding, she nodded and didn't ask any questions.
"How long will you be staying?" she asked.
"A month for now," Nora replied.
"Alright, you can stay in the back room," the woman said.
She led me to the innermost room. It was small but clean, with a bed, a cabinet, and a window.
I sat down on the bed.
Through the window, I could see a vegetable garden and a few tall trees off in the distance.
Nora helped me settle in and sat down beside me on the bed.
"From now on, you need to stay off the grid. I'll hold onto your phone for you," she said.
"Okay," I replied.
"I'll keep your ID, bank cards, and all your documents safe for you. Once you're back on your feet, we'll figure out what to do next," Nora said.
"Okay," I replied.
"Jennifer," Nora said.
I looked up at her.
"You did it," she said.
I didn't say anything.
I put my hand over my belly.
The baby kicked again.