“Thank you, Dr. Patel,” I reply as I stare down at Rosa.
She’s currently hooked up to a ventilator which is breathing for her, but so far, she’s failed every neurological test that’s given to determine whether or not someone is still alive. Hearing she has minimal brain stem activity isn’t the boon that someone who doesn’t have my knowledge would think. For all intents and purposes, she’s gone, the machinery keeping her ‘here’.
“We’ll run tests again in forty-eight hours, then we can discuss the next steps,” he advises. “But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that things don’t look all that promising.”
“I know.” I’m glad he’s got a somewhat no-nonsense approach; it doesn’t offer false hope or empty platitudes. “As far as I can tell, she probably took the pills about two or so hours before I ever got home, based on the levels that came back in her toxicology screen. I can’t remember if her license says she’s an organ donor or not, but I’m her only next of kin, and if she didn’t indicate otherwise, I will donate what’s viable.”
She may as well helpsomeone, right? That may be a bitchy thought, but right now, I’m dealing with a fractious eight-month-old little girl whose whole life has been turned upside down thanks to her mother’s selfishness. And while I understand that there are some people who truly feel they have no hope, Rosa had every reason in the world to live—chief being her daughter. Terminal patients, on the other hand? When their pain gets to the point that medication won’t touch it, well, ultimately, it’s their decision.
“You don’t have to make that decision today, Phoebe,” Dr. Patel replies, his voice kinder than I’m used to hearing.
“I know, but even though I don’t have your expertise, working in ICU has taught me that there are some things that patients don’t come back from, and unfortunately, I suspect this is going to be one of those times.”
“You should probably take the little one home and try to get some rest,” he advises.
I chuckle but there’s no mirth whatsoever. “True. I’m off tomorrow, but I’ll be up here at some point, plus, I need to get Cami set up in the hospital’s daycare.”
He pats me on the shoulder and leaves, allowing me some time with Rosa. Leaning in, I whisper, “I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but I’m going to find her father.” After my announcement, I leave the hospital with one thought in mind, searching her room to see if I can find anything to tell mewhyshe chose this route.
“You’re nothing if not predictable,” I snarl as I find a letter tucked underneath her pillow, along with a manilla envelope that’s thick. Without looking back, I exit her room, closing the door behind me. There’ll be time enough in the upcoming days to deal with her shit.
I walk over to Cami’s crib and lean down to cover her up. It took forever to get her settled for the night and I found myself wanting to break down several times as I maneuvered the crib into my room. Instead, after cuddling her for a long time, I tucked her in then went into Rosa’s room with one thing on my mind; find the information I needed so I could search for Cami’s father.
CHAPTER THREE
Phoebe
Setting Rosa’s letter on my nightstand, I head into my en suite bathroom and take a hot shower to try and unwind from the hell that the past twenty-four plus hours has evolved into. “ThankGodI’m off tomorrow,” I say out loud as I take my time exfoliating my body before I shave my legs and under my arms.
It may still be considered winter according to the outside temperature as well as the calendar itself, but I hate how my scrubs feel on my legs when I don’t shave. I wish I could be like many women who eschew the practice during the winter months, but sadly, I can’t even though there’s no love interest on any horizon in my life.
Once I’ve dried off and lotioned, oiled, then powdered my body, I slip into a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms and a short-sleeve cotton top, brush my teeth, comb out my hair so I can braid it before I put it up in my silk bonnet, then head to the crib where Cami’s still sound asleep.
As I watch her dreaming, her little lips moving like she’s sucking on a pacifier I make a promise. “Camille Rose, I swear to you that I’m going to find your daddy if it’s the last thing I do.”
I finally get settled in my bed and reach for the letter. My heart is beating a mile a minute at what the contents may potentially say, but I have to know what Rosa was thinking when she did the unthinkable as far as I’m concerned.
Because if I had been in her position? I’d have fought until my very last breath to ensure I remained a part of my child’s life, no matter what. But Rosa’s always been a little bit broken, having been in and out of foster care when she was much, much younger. Until she came to live with my family, she bounced around, abused, neglected, and overlooked, and I honestly think it messed with her in ways I’ll never comprehend.
Taking a deep breath, I open the envelope and slide the letter out, then mentally prepare myself to read her words.
Dear Phoebe,
If you’re reading this, then I’m gone. I’m sorry and I’m sure you feel as though I made a selfish decision, especially where Camille is concerned.
The truth of the matter is, I’m too fucked up to keep on pretending that life is good, Fee. Every damn day is a struggle and as much as I love my baby, I can’t keep up the pretense any longer. I tried and tried, and even started seeing a therapist who got me on meds, but it’s just too much.
So, I’m checking out, and I’m apologizing in advance for leaving you holding the bag. The manilla envelope has everything concerning Camille as far as her birth certificate, her shot records, even those visit summary forms you get from the doctor. I love her, so fucking much, but with my history, all I’ll do is screw her up, and that’s not fair to do that when she’s just a baby.
You’ll also find the information for her father so you can find him. He’s got a letter in the folder as well. Please don’t take anything he says personally, Fee, because the last time I saw him and we ended things, it didn’t go well. He’s going to be livid at me for keeping her from him, but he’s really a good man. I guess you’d call him a green flag guy, Phoebe. He works hard, loves his grandmother who’s now in a home because of dementia, and is loyal to his brothers in the motorcycle club he’s a part of.
Again, I’m sorry. Just so you know, I probably would’ve tried to stick it out until Cami was grown, but at my last doctor visit, they found a malignant tumor in my lungs. Remember when I couldn’t get rid of that lingering cough? Yeah, it was because of that and unfortunately, it had already spread everywhere. There was no way I was going to putthat on you to watch me fade away, Fee. You’ve been the only one in my corner for longer than I can remember.
The second page of this letter has all of my information as far as passwords to my accounts, my banking information, and my will so you can handle everything. I have two life insurance policies; one lists you as the beneficiary, and the other is for Cami so she can be taken care of. It’s got you as the trustee or whatever the lawyer said.
I’ll miss you, Phoebe. So fucking much, but already the pain has gotten worse and it’s getting harder and harder to put on a good face for you. Take care of my baby and find Eli so he can raise our daughter.
Hopefully I’ll see y’all again someday.