Page 32 of Open Secrets
“Oh God—” The words ripped out of me.
I was at her side in a blink. My hands moved automatically—two fingers to her throat. Pulse, faint but steady. I leaned close, listening, willing to hear the soft rasp of her breathing. Airway clear. No obstruction.
She didn’t stir. Didn’t even twitch.
It was enough to know she was alive, but not nearly enough to stop the terror clawing at my chest.
My hands fumbled for my phone, slick with sweat. 911. I forced my voice steady enough to give vitals, to describe symptoms the way I’d rattle off a patient history at the clinic—uncontrolled epistaxis, pallor, unresponsive, possible hypovolemia. Thewords sounded clinical, detached, but my heart was breaking between every syllable.
They told me not to move her. An ambulance was on the way. Ten minutes.
Ten minutes.
The longest of my life.
I pulled August into my lap, wrapping him tight in his blankie, rocking him as if I could shield him from this nightmare. With my free hand, I kept hold of Rain’s fingers. So small. So cold. I rubbed them, whispering prayers I didn’t even believe in anymore. A part of me counted her breaths the way I’d count them on a patient chair. Another part begged God—or anyone—not to take her from me.
When the paramedics stormed in, they moved with swift precision, voices clipped and efficient. They wouldn’t let me ride in the back with August, so I strapped him into his car seat with shaking hands and followed, tailing the ambulance through traffic, every red light a threat, every second an eternity.
At the hospital they wheeled her away before I could even kiss her forehead. Words flew past me—tests, bloodwork, won’t stop bleeding—but none of them stuck.
I sat in the waiting room, August heavy in my lap, his head pressed into my chest. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the phone. But I called him anyway.
Please pick up.
Once. Twice.
Third ring. “Maria, I’m about to—”
“Rain’s in the hospital,” I cut him off, fast.
Silence. Then: “What?”
“Her nose started bleeding again and it wouldn’t stop. I tried to wake her, but she—” My voice splintered.
“It’s a nosebleed,” he said quickly. “Kids get those all the time.”
“Do you hear me?” I yelled, the sound bouncing off the sterile walls, making people stare. I lowered my voice to a hoarse whisper. “They’re working on her now. Running tests. And it wasn’t just a fucking nosebleed.”
Silence on the other end. Then his voice, quiet, cracked. “She’ll be okay, right?”
“I don’t know,” I breathed, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see. “I don’t know.”
The words tumbled, unspooling faster than I could catch them. “Lyle… there was this social worker. She came to the house, said the school reported neglect. What if they think this is my fault? What if they—what if they take her away? What if they take the kids?” My chest seized. “God, I have to pick up the kids from school—”
“Maria,” his voice cut through, firm. “Take a breath. Listen to me. I’ll call my mom, ask her to pick them up. You stay put. Stay with Rain. I’m coming home. I’m putting in for leave right now. Just hold on, okay?”
Tears blurred everything. “Hurry,” I whispered.
“I love you,” he said, solid, unwavering.
“I love you too,” I choked out, clutching the phone like it was all that was holding me together.
What felt like an eternity later, the door opened. A doctor stepped in, a chart tucked under his arm, his face careful in that way that already told me I wasn’t going to like what came next.
“We were able to get the bleeding under control,” he began, voice even, practiced, “but Rain’s labs show some concerning things. Her platelet count is very low — that’s why her nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. At the same time, her white blood cell count is very high, and the cells don’t look normal. This tells us there’s something going on in her bone marrow — the part of the body that makes blood.”
The words stacked up like bricks, heavy and suffocating. Platelets. White cells. Bone marrow. I couldn’t catch my breath.
