Page 22 of Run Omega Run
"It's difficult to predict with certainty. Weeks maybe, depending on how she responds to the medications and how well we can manage her comfort."
Mom was quiet for a long moment, her eyes moving from Dr. Patterson, to me, to the four men who had somehow become part of this most intimate family discussion. When she finally spoke, her voice was clear and determined.
"I want to go home," she said simply.
"Mom—" I started, but she squeezed my hand to stop me.
"I want to die in my own bed, in the place where I raised you and all the other children who came to us. I want to hear their voices in the morning, smell whatever you're cooking for breakfast and watch the sun come through those terrible cracked windows." Her eyes found mine, steady and sure. "I don't want to die in a place that smells like antiseptic and sounds like machines."
My body heated, chest tight, heart pounding as the tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over, running down my cheeks as I struggled to find words that could encompass everything I was feeling. Fear, relief, love, grief. All of it tangled together into something too complex for language.
"If that's what you want," I said, my voice thick with emotion, "then that's what we'll do. I'll take care of you at home."
"We'll help," Dante said quietly, and the others nodded in agreement. "Whatever you need." My eyes narrowed. Why would they help, they had already done so much. I wondered if they had an agenda, but part of me didn’t care as having them around brought me comfort in a way nothing else had in a long time.
Dr. Patterson made notes in her folder, her expression suggesting she'd had this conversation many times before. "I'll arrange for home hospice care and make sure you have adequate medications for pain management and breathing difficulties. There's a month's supply of everything she'll need, along with instructions for managing symptoms at home."
"A month's worth," I repeated, trying to process the generosity of that prescription. Medications that would normally cost more than we saw in donations over several months, simply handed over like it was nothing.
"Your donation more than covers hospice medications," Dr. Patterson explained, nodding to Bennett. He nodded once.
"Thank you," Mom said, addressing all of them but looking directly at Bennett. "I don't know what we did to deserve such kindness from strangers."
"You raised her," Bennett said simply, nodding toward me. "That's more than enough."
Mom pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She looked at me, then at Bennett, then smiled as a fresh look of comfort flowed over her features. I frowned. What does she know that I don’t?
As Dr. Patterson left to arrange discharge papers and medication instructions, I sat beside Mom's bed holding her hand and listening to the quiet conversation of four men who had somehow become part of our family in the space of a single crisis-filled day Their voices mixed together like their scents, creating harmony where before there had only been fear.
I looked at each of them, and for the first time in months, I felt like maybe I wasn’t facing the future entirely alone.
Chapter 10
Heather
Mom leaned heavily against Dante's arm as we made our way slowly up the broken pathway to the orphanage, each step requiring careful negotiation around chunks of concrete and debris that littered the streets. Her breathing was strained, and I could see the effort each movement cost her, the way she had to pause every few steps to gather strength for the next. Dante had offered to carry her, but Mom had declined, being as stubborn as ever!
Angus walked on her other side, not touching but close enough to catch her if she stumbled, his massive frame somehow managing to project both strength and gentleness. The bag of medications from the hospital bounced against his shoulder, a month's worth of pills and inhalers that represented more pharmaceutical support than we'd had access to in years.
"Almost there, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice encouraging while my eyes traced the familiar damage to our building. The crack in the front wall had spread since morning, or maybe I was just noticing it more acutely now that I was seeing it through the eyes of men who might judge our living conditions. The front steps tilted at an angle that suggested the foundation had shifted, and I found myself mentally calculating whether we could afford to have someone look at it.
"I can see why ye love this place," Angus said, his accent warm with something that might have been approval. "It's got character."
I laughed. “That’s a polite way to say it’s falling down!”
