Page 35 of The Breaking Point

Chapter 14

I get back to the hospital just as the doctor starts her morning rounds. She’s older, maybe mid-sixties, with short-cropped grey hair against smooth dark skin. There’s a quiet authority in the way she walks. Entering the room she gives us a polite nod. “Good morning, I’m Dr. Bishop,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “I was the cardiothoracic surgeon on Mr. Wilson’s case.”

Then she turns to my father, her expression all business. “Mr. Wilson, you had a significant blockage in your left anterior descending artery, what we call the LAD as well as narrowing in two other coronary arteries. We performed a successful triple bypass, and you’re stable, but this was serious. You were lucky we caught it when we did.”

My father tries to sit up straighter. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder, easing him back. “You’ll be here for a few more days so we can monitor your recovery. In the meantime, our nutritionist will come by to talk to you about a heart-healthy diet, and I strongly recommend incorporating some form oflight, regular exercise once you're cleared. Walking is a good start.”

She glances at me, then back at him. “Recovery doesn’t end with surgery. It’s a lifestyle change. And I need you to take it seriously.”

My father nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

Dr. Bishop gives a small approving smile. “Good. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

She turns and walks out, her clipboard already in hand, moving on to the next patient.

My mom sighs and says, “Well, I guess that’s it for those bear claws.”

My father smirks. “You’ve always been after my claws.”

She rolls her eyes, but her voice softens. “I’m serious, Don. I can’t lose you.”

Then they kiss.

It would be cute, if I wasn’t standing here feeling like an intruder. Bitter and aching. Dr. Brett wanted me to reframe things, see it differently, but all I can think is: I was the unwanted child that kept the lovebirds from riding off into the sunset. Probably not what the good doctor meant, but oh well.

Aiden, ever eager to be helpful in public, says, “We’ll go on walks, Don. You can come with me to the gym.”

So sweet. So performative.

I turn to my mom. “Do you want me to take you home? Shower, maybe get some sleep?”

Before she can answer, Aiden jumps in, asshole. “I can take her. I’ll take the kids too. You can stay here with your dad.”

I don’t even have time to tell him to go jump off the nearest roof because my father interrupts. “Good. You and I can talk.”

Great. Because saying no to a recovering heart patient in front of my kids is a stellar look.

I stay behind while the boys leave, each kissing my cheek. I force a smile. As soon as the door closes behind them, I drift to the bench near the door, the one farthest from his bed.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares at everything but me. I’m not going to make it easier by breaking the silence.

Eventually, he clears his throat. “You know, when you almost die, your life doesn’t flash before your eyes. Not the way people say it does. What flashes are the good moments. The real ones. Meeting the woman you love. Marrying her. Holding your kids. Watching them grow.”

He goes quiet for a while. Then starts again, his voice rougher.

“I remember the day you were born. You came two months early, did you know that?”

I shake my head.

He shifts slightly, clearing his throat. “Back then, the medicine wasn’t as advanced as it is now. And your mom, she was older when she got pregnant with you. Around seven months in, she started having trouble breathing, so we took her to the hospital.That’s when the doctor told me, her heart was failing. She needed surgery.”

He pauses, eyes distant. “But to do the surgery, they had to deliver you first. You weren’t done cooking yet. You were too small. And your mom... she was already on a ventilator. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t choose. But I knew what she would’ve wanted.”

His voice gets quieter. “Even though I knew it might mean losing her, I told them to wait. Let you grow. Let you have a chance. I picked you.”

He swallows hard. “But she coded before they could. Everything went sideways, and they had no choice. They had to deliver you early anyway.”

He rubs a hand over his face, trying to keep his voice steady. “You ended up in the NICU. So small. You looked like a baby bird, just skin and ribs and wires. Your mom was still unconscious, still in the ICU. I had to pick where to be. I chose you.”

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