Chapter 4: Hospital Walls and Silent Promises

I hurried to the hospital with Aubrey’s pillow.

The late-afternoon sun glared through my windshield as I raced down Maple Avenue, fingers clenching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white. At every red light, I checked the pillow on the passenger seat, like it might fly away if I looked away too long.

As soon as I walked into the room, Derek snatched the pillow from me, snapping, “So slow—what took you so long?”

His eyes were rimmed red, jaw set. He didn’t even look at me—just grabbed the pillow like I was a delivery driver who’d shown up late.

I said there was traffic.

My voice sounded small, thin as a thread. I didn’t bother to explain further. I knew he wasn’t really listening.

Derek just scoffed and ignored me, carefully placing the pillow in Aubrey’s arms.

He fluffed the pillow, tucking it beneath her elbow, making sure she was as comfortable as possible, his whole focus on her, never me.

Aubrey was about to have surgery and was on an IV drip, getting prepped. With the pillow in her arms, her face relaxed and she let out a gentle sigh.

She held it close to her chest, breathing in the scent of fabric softener and home. The lines on her forehead smoothed out, the tension in her jaw easing just a little.

“I don’t know why, but as long as I have Mom’s hand-sewn bluebird, I’m not afraid anymore!” She gave Mom a sweet smile.

Her voice was light, almost musical. For a second, she looked like a little girl again, not the teenager at the center of all this drama.

Mom wiped her tears and hugged her tightly. “You silly girl…”

Mom’s arms wrapped around Aubrey’s shoulders, gentle and trembling. She pressed her cheek to Aubrey’s hair, whispering soft words only they could hear.

Dad and Derek both looked relieved, finally able to wipe the sweat from their brows.

Dad sagged into the plastic hospital chair, exhaling so loudly the nurse glanced over. Derek slumped against the wall, running a hand through his hair.

I stepped out and sat in the hallway, lost in thought.

The hallway buzzed with hospital sounds—beeping monitors, distant footsteps, nurses chatting at the station. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt coffee from the vending machine. I watched the vending machine blink, its lights reflecting off the linoleum. My head throbbed with questions I couldn’t answer.

Which college should I apply to?

The same question circled endlessly in my mind, like a song on repeat I couldn’t turn off.

Maybe I was just too tired, because I dozed off as I thought about it.

I leaned my head against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Somewhere down the hall, a nurse’s sneakers squeaked against the linoleum, and the vending machine coughed out a can of Sprite. The hum of fluorescent lights was oddly soothing. For a moment, I drifted somewhere in between—half awake, half dreaming.

When I woke up, it was already dark. Dad, Mom, and my brother were all standing nearby, talking quietly.

Their voices were hushed, their faces shadowed in the glow from the exit sign. They looked like they’d aged years in a single day.

Seeing I was awake, Derek scoffed, “Aubrey just had surgery, and you’re so relaxed you can sleep through it!”

He didn’t bother to lower his voice, not caring who heard. I could feel the judgment, sharp as a slap.

Clearly, Aubrey’s surgery was over—it was already night.

The hospital windows reflected the orange streetlights outside, long shadows stretching across the tile.

I explained that I’d been volunteering since early morning and was exhausted.

I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked anyway. I wanted him to understand, but I knew he wouldn’t.

Derek just scoffed again, glancing repeatedly at Aubrey sleeping in the room.

He crossed his arms, face tight with worry and annoyance. It was as if I were invisible again, as if nothing I did ever mattered.

My dad looked at me but said nothing.

He shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, then stared at the pattern in the floor tile, avoiding my eyes.

My mom forced a smile at me. “Natalie, you’ve worked hard too…”

Her voice was soft, almost apologetic. She looked like she wanted to say something important, but the words wouldn’t come.

She seemed to want to say something more, but hesitated, her smile strained.

She wrung her hands, eyes darting from me to Dad to Derek, as if searching for permission to speak.

I sniffled and asked if something was wrong.

The words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out, needing to hear the answer even if I already knew it.

She hesitated, then shook her head with a smile. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just that before the surgery, Aubrey made a request. She wouldn’t agree to the surgery unless we promised her something.”

Her voice faded at the end, as if she hoped I wouldn’t hear. The hospital air felt suddenly colder, heavier.