Chapter 18: The Weight of It All
The hospital waiting room was a blur of fluorescent lights and beeping monitors in the distance. The walls were painted a pale, institutional green that did nothing to comfort anyone. The chairs were plastic and uncomfortable, the kind designed to make you want to leave as quickly as possible. But April couldn't leave. She couldn't go anywhere.
Her mother was sitting in one of those plastic chairs, looking like she'd aged a decade in the past few hours. Her hands were folded in her lap, and her hospital scrubs—she'd come straight from her shift—were rumpled and stained with something April didn't want to think about. When she saw April, she stood and pulled her into a tight embrace that felt like it might break.
"He's stable," her mother said immediately, as if saying it first would make it true. "The doctor said his leg is badly fractured. He'll need surgery tomorrow."
"How badly?" April asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"The bone is shattered in three places. There's soft tissue damage too. He'll be okay, but..." Her mother trailed off, and April could feel her trembling. "The recovery will be long."
"How long until he can work?" April asked, already knowing the answer would break everything.
Her mother pulled back, looking at her daughter with eyes that held too much fear. "Eight weeks. Maybe more. Maybe months for full recovery."
April felt the weight of it settle on her shoulders like a physical force. Eight weeks without her father's income. Medical bills that insurance wouldn't cover. Everything she'd fought for, everything she'd sacrificed for suddenly fragile again.
A doctor approached later with papers and the tired expression of someone who'd delivered this same news a hundred times before. "The surgery will be approximately $45,000," he said clinically, as if money was just another variable in an equation. "Insurance covers about 60% of major procedures. You're looking at roughly $18,000 out of pocket, not including post-operative care and physical therapy."
April's mother gripped April's hand so tightly it hurt. Eighteen thousand dollars. That was more than they had in savings. That was more than they could borrow. That was the difference between surviving and drowning.
They were sitting with her father sedated and bandaged, looking smaller and more vulnerable than April had ever seen him when Jaden returned from the hallway where he'd been giving them space. He sat down quietly beside April, not saying anything, just being there.
"What are you thinking?" he asked softly after a long time.
"That everything is broken," April said. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears. "That I won one battle and lost the war. That nothing matters if he's hurt like this."
Jaden didn't try to tell her it would be okay. He didn't offer empty platitudes or false promises. He just held her hand and sat with her in the weight of it all. In the quiet horror of a life-changing moment.
Hours passed. The sun moved across the hospital room in a slow, inexorable arc. April's mother eventually fell asleep in the uncomfortable chair, her head tilted back at an awkward angle. Nurses came and went, checking monitors, taking notes, maintaining the machinery that kept her father alive.
And April and Jaden sat in the quiet, holding onto each other in the only way they knew how.
"I'm sorry," Jaden said eventually, his voice rough. "About your father. About all of this."
"It's not your fault," April said.
"I know," Jaden replied. "But I hate that you're hurting. I hate that I can't fix this."
April looked at him this boy who had given up his perfect image for her, who was sitting in a hospital room at 9 AM on a school day instead of pretending everything was fine. His expensive watch was gone. His uniform was rumpled. He looked as broken as she felt.
"We'll figure it out," she said quietly, though she had no idea how.
"We will," Jaden agreed, squeezing her hand.
But neither of them knew how. And that terrified them both.