Chapter 1
"Where's my mom's ICU bed?" I demanded.
No one at the nurse's station looked up.
I tapped the counter.
The nurse on duty checked the logbook, not bothering to look up. "Linda Summers? She's been moved to a regular room. It's Room 308 on the third floor."
"Who approved the transfer? She was still in the ICU when I came by yesterday," I pressed.
She finally glanced up at me, her expression unreadable. "Dr. Barnes signed off on it. If you're family, go ask him yourself."
I didn't go to the third floor. Instead, I headed straight for the ICU.
At the end of the hall, the door to a private room was slightly ajar, and a faint scent of lilies wafted out.
I pushed the door open.
On the bed lay a young woman in a pale yellow silk nightgown, her hair spilling across the pillow, her cheeks glowing with health.
Michael Grant sat by the bed, peeling an apple.
The apple peel dropped into the trash can, forming an unbroken ribbon.
When he saw me, his hand froze for a moment. "Victoria, you're here."
I glanced at the nameplate by the bed.
The name had been changed to "Emily Scott," written in neat, precise handwriting.
My mom's name had been crossed out with a rough slash.
"Who is she?" I asked.
My question wasn't about him. It was about this incident.
Michael set down the fruit knife and stood up. "She's Emily Scott. I mentioned her before. She's not well and needs special care."
I knew who Emily was.
She was Michael's first crush back in college.
They broke up after graduation, and sometimes, when he got drunk, he'd mumble her name.
I never paid it any mind. "My mom's been waiting for three months."
"I know," Michael replied, his tone as calm as if he were talking about the weather. "But Emily's case is more urgent. Dr. Barnes said it'd be better to let her have the room first."
"More urgent, huh?" I repeated. "She looks like she's in perfect health, and you're sitting here peeling apples for her. What exactly is urgent?"
He stayed silent.
*****
My mom's name was Linda Summers. She was fifty-eight and had severe heart valve disease.
There were only twelve ICU beds at Healthwell Medical Center.
There were about fifty people on the waiting list.
Three months ago, when we finally got my mom's name on the waiting list, Richard Barnes, the director of the hospital, patted his chest with a big smile. "Ms. Chase, don't worry. Your mom's ICU bed is locked in. She'll be in by next week."
A week later, my mom was settled into ICU bed number seven.
She was so happy that day, saying the room faced south and got plenty of sunlight.
She sat on the bed, looking out at the tree, and said to me, "Victoria, I never really got to enjoy much in life, but this room's not bad at all."
I smiled and told her that once she got better, I'd take her somewhere nicer.
She waved her hand. "No need. This place is good enough for me."
In the ICU, she could get life-saving imported heart medication.
Only a few hospitals in the whole country had access to those meds, and Healthwell Medical Center was one of them.
Richard had personally promised me, "Your mom's meds will never run out."
That was twelve days ago.
Over the next twelve days, my mom's condition finally stabilized.
The doctors said that with two more rounds of treatment, we could finally consider surgery.
But after three days away on a business trip, I came back to find my mom had been moved out of the ICU.
They'd shoved her into a six-bed room on the third floor, with windows facing north and no sunlight at all.
The old man in the next bed coughed all night, and my mom said she hadn't slept a wink in three days.
Besides, they'd stopped giving her the imported meds.
"The nurse said there was a problem with the meds, so they're using the domestic ones for now," my mom told me, her voice flat.
She didn't want me to worry.
But I could see her fingertips turning blue, her lips cracked and dry, and every few words she had to stop to catch her breath.
"Mom, wait for me," I said.
I left the third floor and took the elevator up to the ICU on the fifth.
The nameplate at the head of the bed wasn't my mom's anymore.
It said Emily.
Michael was sitting by the bed, peeling an apple.
I demanded, "Why?"
"Dr. Barnes thinks her case is more urgent," he replied.
"Dr. Barnes?" I echoed.
"Yeah, Dr. Barnes," he said, shooting me a look. "Victoria, if I were you, I wouldn't stir things up right now. If you make a fuss, it's not going to help your mom. She still needs care here."
I stared at him.
In five years of marriage, this was the first time he'd ever talked to me like this. It was like he was scolding some clueless stranger.