Page 67 of Single Mom's Daddies
I follow Saffron back down the hall with my hands in my pockets and my jaw tight. I still don’t like what the doctor said. I don’t like that the system doesn’t move for her. I don’t like that I’m supposed to just wait—quietly, politely, patiently—while my daughter sits in a hospital bed with machines doing the work her body should be able to do.
But I also know Saffron’s right. Storming around doesn’t fix anything. It just makes people stop listening. And we need everyone to listen right now. For Ivy.
We round the corner and find the doctor still in the same spot, talking to Roman and Victor. They’re asking questions—goodones. Smart ones. Questions that keep the man talking instead of retreating behind clipboards and polite excuses when he sees me. It’s one of the things we’re good at, the three of us. One talks, one watches, one listens.
I stop beside them. The doctor looks up.
He doesn’t flinch.
“Dr. Belleville,” I say. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m sorry.”
The doctor’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, he looks a little…understanding. “I get it,” he says. “Do you know how many people scream at me every week? Parents. Siblings. Friends. Spouses. You name it. They all think they’re the one who cares the most. And most of them do care. They just don’t know where to put it. Not when it comes to their kid. I’m just glad you didn’t hit me. You’re a big guy.”
I snort a laugh, and Roman blinks. “People hit you?”
He shrugs. “It happens.” He adjusts his glasses and gives a small smile. “You’re new to this. Your brothers explained your…connection to Ivy. You just found out about her?”
I nod.
He smiles, not unkindly. “Then you’re doing better than most. You’re still here.”
I look at him.
“Some people run away when it’s their kid. Their brains can’t handle it…they shut down. The fact you three showed up at all is good for her. She needs a lot of support. So does her mom.”
“We’re here for them both,” Victor says firmly. “As much as we are allowed to be.”
Roman asks, “Are there any specialists who might have a different perspective on her case?”
Dr. Belleville winces. “I am the specialist in the area. Her case is rare—there are others in bigger cities, but she wouldn’t survive the transport to New York or Boston or LA or Miami.”
We collectively sigh at that.
“She’s in good hands,” he says. “That’s not a sales pitch. That’s not PR. That’s me telling you as the man who’s been reading her chart for years. We are doing everything we can. I need you to trust me. Just a little.”
I glance at Saffron. She’s watching me and nodding. Of course he’s a specialist. We shouldn’t have doubted that Saffron would have gotten her the best care possible.
I nod. “Okay. You have it.”
Dr. Belleville gives a short, grateful nod. “If we get her bloodwork back in range, she can go home until we get the call for the transplant. That’s the goal. We just need more time.”
Roman asks, “How much time?”
The doctor exhales. “Hard to say. Could be weeks. Could be months. Could be days. But she has to be ready when it comes. If she’s too weak when a donor becomes available, we lose the shot.”
Victor’s jaw ticks. “She’ll be ready.”
The doctor looks at each of us in turn. “Then help us get her there. Be here for her when she has the energy for visitors. Lether sleep when she can. Help her eat as much as she can. Let us be the ones to threaten her with a feeding tube if she doesn’t eat her vegetables. We’ll let you be the fun people who see her. That way, she looks forward to your visits.”
Saffron smiles at that. “You got it.”
He doesn’t wait for more. He heads back toward the nurses’ station with that tired, even pace doctors always seem to have—like no matter what happens, there will be five more emergencies before lunch.
We stand there a moment longer. I let out a slow breath. “I don’t like what he said.”
“I don’t either,” Victor replies. “But I believe him.”
Roman glances at me. “You good?”
