Page 83 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
We moved to a quieter alcove where he could review Janet's discharge instructions. The list was extensive—multiple medications with specific timing requirements, dietary restrictions, follow-up appointments with three different specialists, and weekly blood work to monitor her liver function.
"The most important thing is consistency," the doctor explained. "Missing doses or skipping appointments could set back her progress significantly."
"She'll have whatever support she needs."
"Good. Because honestly, patients in her condition do much better when they're not isolated. Having family around makes a tremendous difference in recovery outcomes."
When I rejoined Sadie in her mother's room, I found them both looking exhausted but relieved. Janet was sitting up in bed, her color slightly better than it had been hours earlier.
"The discharge papers are ready," I told Sadie. "We can take her home whenever she feels up to it."
"Home?" Janet looked confused. "I thought I was going back to the apartment."
Sadie glanced at me, then back at her mother. "Mom, the doctor thinks you need more help than the home nurse can provide. Harrison and I discussed it, and we'd like you to stay with us for a while."
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not a burden," I said firmly. "You're family."
The word felt natural coming out of my mouth, and I realized I meant it completely. This woman had raised Sadie, had shaped her into the person who was changing my entire world. That made her precious to me now, the same way Sadie was precious to me.
The drive home was quiet, Mrs. Quinn dozing in the passenger seat while Sadie sat in the back monitoring her mother's breathing. I watched them both in the rearview mirror, struck by how naturally Sadie had stepped into the caretaker role. She'd handled the medical information, asked the right questions, organized the discharge paperwork with a competence that impressed every nurse who worked with her.
When we stopped at a red light, I caught her eye in the mirror. "You've been incredible today."
"I've just been trying to keep up."
"No, you've been managing a crisis with more grace than most people could handle. Your mother is lucky to have you."
A small smile crossed her face. "We're both lucky to have you. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't been there."
The light turned green, and I focused on driving, but her words stayed with me. For years, I'd been the person who handled things alone, who solved problems through careful planning and self-reliance. Having someone acknowledge my help, having someone be genuinely grateful for my presence, felt unfamiliar and wonderful.
Back at the house, Mrs. Patterson had kept Eloise entertained with cookies and card games. My daughter bounded toward us as we came through the front door, then stopped short when she saw Mrs. Quinn moving slowly behind us.
"Grandma Janet looks sick," she whispered to Sadie.
"She is sick, sweetheart. That's why she's going to stay with us for a while, so we can take care of her."
Eloise nodded solemnly, then approached Janet with the careful courtesy I'd taught her. "Would you like to see your room, Grandma Janet? Daddy says you can use the guest room, and it has a really good view of the garden."
I led the way upstairs, carrying her overnight bag while she climbed the steps slowly, one hand on the banister. The guest room was at the end of the hall, spacious and quiet, with afternoon light streaming through the windows.
"This is lovely," Mrs. Quinn said, settling carefully on the edge of the bed. "But I hate to put anyone out."
"You're not putting anyone out." I set her bag on the chair by the window. "The room has its own bathroom, and if you need anything during the night, just call. We're right down the hall."
Sadie had followed us up and was gathering her clothes from the dresser, moving her books and personal items to make room for her mother's things. The sight of her clearing out space, making herself smaller to accommodate someone else's needs, reminded me of how she'd approached our entire arrangement—always giving, rarely asking for anything in return.
Mrs. Quinn watched her daughter's movements with tired eyes. "This is quite an adjustment for newlyweds. Most couples want privacy in their first months of marriage, not a sick old woman taking up residence."
The comment landed awkwardly, and I saw Sadie's hands still on the stack of sweaters she was holding.
"Marriage is about supporting each other through difficulties," I said carefully. "This is what families do."
Mrs. Quinn's laugh was dry and knowing. "Some marriage this is turning out to be."
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