Chapter 4 - THE WAKE-UP
Twenty-four hours later, the heavy sedation was turned off, and Monica Ulette opened her eyes in Bed 4 of the Surgical ICU.
I stood outside her glass room, holding two cups of black coffee. Beside me stood Nathan, my husband. He had arrived at the hospital at 6:00 a.m. straight from a deposition, wearing his dark charcoal suit, his broad shoulders and steady presence grounding me like an anchor in a storm.
"You don't have to go in there, Irene," Nathan said softly, placing a warm hand on the small of my back. "Dr. Vance is taking over. You’ve done your job."
"I know," I said, looking through the glass. "But I need to look her in the eye while she’s awake."
"I'll be right here," Nathan said, kissing my temple.
I opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside.
The room was quiet, filled with the steady beep of the heart monitor and the gentle hiss of the low-flow oxygen cannula resting under Monica’s nose. Her skin was still pale, her lip cracked, and an IV line ran into her neck.
When she heard my footsteps, her head turned slowly on the pillow. Her eyes fluttered open.
For a few seconds, her brain struggled through the fog of anesthesia and pain medication. Then she saw me. She saw the scrubs. She saw the white coat. She saw the badge on my chest.
Her eyes widened in sudden, absolute terror.
"Irene?" she rasped, her voice dry and thin. "Where... where am I?"
"You're in the Intensive Care Unit at Mercyrest Medical Center in Hartford," I said, pulling a wooden chair up to the side of her bed and sitting down. "You were in a high-speed vehicle collision on Route 9. You had severe internal bleeding."
Monica swallowed hard, her hand moving reflexively toward her bandaged abdomen. She winced in sharp pain. "Who... who operated on me?"
"I did," I said. "I removed your spleen. I sutured your liver. I spent three hours keeping you from dying on my table."
Monica blinked, tears instantly filling her eyes, spilling down her pale cheeks into her ears. "Irene... I... I thought you were in Oregon... I thought you dropped out..."
"Stop," I said. The word was cold, clean, and razor-sharp.
Monica froze.
"Don't lie to me while you are attached to my monitors, Monica," I said, leaning forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You knew I didn't drop out. You knew about Sarah's cancer. You knew I took an approved leave of absence. You took my trust, turned it into a story about a failure and a loser boyfriend, and handed it to Mom and Dad on a silver platter."
Monica turned her face away toward the window, her lips trembling. "I... I was trying to protect Mom and Dad... they were so stressed about Dad's factory... they couldn't handle you taking a break..."
"Protect them?" I laughed—a low, quiet sound without a shred of humor. "You wanted to be the only successful child in that house. You couldn't bear the thought of me coming home with an MD after years of you being the center of their universe. You traded my entire life so you could keep your golden crown."
"I'm sorry!" Monica sobbed, her chest heaving, which caused her to gasp in agony from her abdominal incision. "I'm sorry, Irene! I was jealous! Okay?! I was jealous! You were always the smart one! Dad never looked at me the way he looked at your acceptance letter! I hated it!"
I sat back in my chair, watching her cry.
Five years ago, hearing her confess her jealousy might have satisfied me. It might have given me some twisted sense of validation.
Instead, looking at her now—fragile, broken, surrounded by plastic tubes and medical tape—I just felt an overwhelming sense of pity.
"You destroyed five years of my relationship with my parents over a ribbon, Monica," I said quietly. "You let them turn me into a ghost."
"I'll tell them!" Monica cried, reaching out with a trembling, IV-bruised hand toward my lap. "I'll tell them the truth, Irene! I’ll tell them I made it all up! I’ll fix it!"
I stood up from the chair. I stepped back, looking down at her.
"You can't fix five years, Monica," I said. "You can tell them whatever you want. But you aren't doing it to save me. I don't need saving anymore."
The door slid open, and my parents stepped into the room, holding flowers that looked ridiculous against the backdrop of medical monitors.
When they saw me standing over Monica’s bed, my mother dropped the vase. It shattered on the linoleum floor, water and pink roses spilling everywhere.
"Irene!" my mother cried. "Monica!"
May you like
Monica looked at our parents, then at me, her eyes filled with shame.
"Mom... Dad..." Monica choked out, tears streaming down her face. "I lied. Irene didn't drop out. She never dropped out. I... I made up the whole thing."
