~Aaron~
My phone rang the next morning. It was Rhoda. We’d barely spoken since Joan left the restaurant in tears.
Rhoda had been upset with me for setting her up with Joan without giving her a heads-up. I never had the courage to explain myself, knowing it was just her way of pretending nothing affected her.
Adjusting the towel around my waist, I swiped the green button to answer.
There was a sniffle on the other end. I froze.
“Aaron?” Her voice cracked slightly, and I straightened up.
“Rhoda? What’s wrong?” I asked, walking toward my wardrobe and grabbing a pair of pants.
“It’s Joan…” Her voice trailed off, and for a second, it felt like my heart stopped. Joan?
“What happened to her?” I asked sharply, hurriedly pulling on my pants and zipping up.
“Her apartment was broken into. Some guys attacked her-they beat her until she passed out. Her neighbor rushed her to the hospital and called me.”
I bolted out of the room, grabbing a T-shirt on the way.
“She’s not waking up.”
No. No, no, no.
“Which hospital? I’m on my way,” I said, hanging up. I snatched my car keys from the table, not even bothering to dry my hair, and rushed outside.
It didn’t take long to get to the hospital-Rhoda had texted me the address. I parked hastily, jumping out and tossing my keys to a security guard.
“Lock the car for me,” I said, not waiting for a response as I sprinted inside.
I headed straight for the reception desk. The nurse there gave me a polite smile.
“Hi, how can I help you?”
“I’m here to see a patient who was just brought in-Joan Madison,” I said, my words tumbling out.
She typed quickly, her eyes scanning the screen.
“She’s in the emergency room. You can-”
I didn’t wait for her to finish. I was already moving, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.
If anything happened to Joan…
No. I couldn’t let my mind go there.
I spotted Rhoda standing beside a hospital bed. My steps slowed as I saw Joan lying motionless.
Her lips were split, bruises covered her face, and dried blood matted her hair. My breath caught in my throat.
Rhoda turned as she sensed me approaching. Her face was swollen from crying.
“Aaron,” she sobbed, collapsing into my arms. I held her tightly, my eyes locked on Joan’s broken body.
“How did this happen?” I whispered, my voice hoarse.
“Indie-Joan’s neighbor-called me this morning. She heard noises from Joan’s apartment last night but didn’t check until today. She found her unconscious and rushed her here.” Rhoda pulled back slightly, tears streaming down her face.
“Is she going to die? Are we losing her?” Her voice cracked. “I never got the chance to apologize. I said such horrible things to her because I was hurt… but I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean any of it.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears spilling out. “Please tell me she’ll be okay.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. My heart ached so badly it felt like it might shatter.
Just then, the doctor walked in. I hurried over.
“Hi, I’m Aaron,” I said quickly.
“I’m Dr. Jax,” he replied with a curt nod. “Are you her guardian?”
“Yes.” I nodded stiffly.
“Joan has suffered a traumatic subarachnoid hemorrhage-a severe brain injury caused by blunt force trauma. We need to operate immediately to stop the bleeding.”
Dread curled in my chest.
The words hit me like a freight train, dragging me back to another memory:
“We need to operate. His chances of survival are fifty-fifty.”
I shook my head, trying to push the memory away.
“Will she survive?” I asked quietly.
Dr. Jax’s face softened, but he didn’t sugarcoat it.
“We won’t know until we stop the bleeding. The sooner we operate, the better her chances. We’ll need your consent to begin the procedure.”
Rhoda broke down again, her sobs filling the room.
I nodded numbly.
“Follow me,” the doctor said.
I signed the consent forms without hesitation. They wheeled Joan out of the ER and into the operating room. Rhoda and I sat in the waiting area, both lost in our thoughts.
After a while, Rhoda whispered, “She didn’t deserve this. She cared about you, and I pushed her away because I was too stubborn to admit I was wrong.” She wiped her eyes, her voice shaking. “She was my best friend. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”
I wrapped an arm around her, offering what little comfort I could. I had no words-my own heart was breaking.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For everything. I overreacted. I just-”
I gently squeezed her shoulder.
“She’ll be fine. You can tell her yourself when she wakes up.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed that.
This felt too familiar. The day my parents were in that car accident, Mom had died instantly. Dad had internal bleeding. The doctors had promised to do their best, but it wasn’t enough.
What if history was repeating itself?
A few hours later, I convinced Rhoda to go home. She was exhausted, emotionally drained, and I knew she needed rest. I stayed behind, pacing the waiting room, praying, hoping.
The doctors finally emerged at 4 p. m.-six agonizing hours after they started.
Dr. Jax pulled off his mask as he approached me, his expression unreadable.
My heart raced.
“How did it go?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“The surgery was successful,” he said, and for a brief moment, relief washed over me-until he continued.
“But she slipped into a coma. Right now, we don’t know when-or if-she’ll wake up. It’s up to her. Her chances of survival are around twenty percent. What she needs now is a reason to fight-love, family, friendship-something worth waking up for.”
He patted my shoulder and walked away.
I stumbled back a step, my chest hollow, my heart sinking like a stone.
Joan was in a coma.
Her sharp green eyes, her beautiful smile… gone.
If she wanted to wake up, she would.
If not… she was gone forever.