December 15th. 3 AM.
Maya's phone rang.
She woke from a deep sleep, her heart pounding. The screen showed the facility's number.
She answered. "Hello?"
"Ms. Reyes? This is Nurse Phillips from Crown Heights. I'm sorry to call so late."
Maya sat up. "Is it Mrs. Patterson?"
"She's had a stroke. We've transported her to Brooklyn Methodist. You should come."
Maya hung up. She dressed in the dark. Her hands shook. She couldn't find her other shoe.
She ran to the sixth floor. She pounded on Leo's door.
He opened it, groggy. "What's wrong?"
"Mrs. Patterson. Stroke. I need to go to the hospital."
"I'll drive. Marco has a car."
They woke Marco. He didn't ask questions. He just grabbed his keys.
---
The hospital was bright and loud.
Maya sat in the waiting room. The same plastic chairs. The same clock on the wall. The same smell of disinfectant.
Leo sat next to her. He didn't say anything. He just held her hand.
A doctor came out after an hour. Late thirties. Dark circles under his eyes.
"Are you family?" he asked.
"She's my neighbor. My friend. I'm all she has."
The doctor nodded. "She's stable. But the stroke was significant. She's lost mobility on her left side. Her speech is affected."
"Can I see her?"
"Five minutes."
Mrs. Patterson was in a curtained bay. Wires attached to her chest. An IV in her arm. Her eyes were open.
Maya pulled a chair next to the bed.
"Hey," Maya said.
Mrs. Patterson's mouth moved. No sound came out.
"Don't talk. Just listen."
The old woman blinked.
"You're going to be okay. The doctor said you're stable. You're going to need therapy. But you're going to be okay."
Mrs. Patterson's hand moved. Maya took it. The fingers were cold.
"I'm not going anywhere," Maya said. "I'll be here every day."
The old woman's eyes closed.
Maya stayed for ten minutes. Then she went back to the waiting room.
Leo stood up. "How is she?"
"She can't talk. She can't move her left side." Maya sat down. Her legs were weak. "She's not going to recover. Not fully."
Leo sat next to her. "Then we make sure she's comfortable."
"She's going to die."
"Eventually. We're all going to die."
"That's not helpful."
"I know. I'm sorry."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. The clock ticked. The waiting room was empty.
---
The next morning, Maya called Irene.
Mrs. Patterson's sister answered on the second ring. "Maya?"
"It's Mrs. Patterson. She had a stroke."
A pause. "Is she alive?"
"Yes. But she can't talk. She can't move her left side."
Another pause. "I'll take the bus. I'll be there tomorrow."
"The doctor says she needs round-the-clock care. She can't go back to the facility."
"Then we find a place. A nursing home. Somewhere with more support."
Maya closed her eyes. "Okay."
---
Irene arrived the next day.
She looked older than before. More tired. She went straight to Mrs. Patterson's room.
Maya waited in the hallway. She could hear Irene's voice, low and steady. She couldn't make out the words.
After an hour, Irene came out. Her eyes were red.
"She's not going to get better," Irene said.
"The doctor said with therapy –"
"The doctor is being kind. Eleanor is eighty-one years old. She had a heart attack six months ago. Now a stroke." Irene shook her head. "She's not going to get better."
"What do we do?"
"We make her comfortable. We visit. We hold her hand." Irene looked at Maya. "And we say goodbye."
Maya's throat tightened. "I'm not ready."
"No one is ever ready."
---
Maya went back to the room.
Mrs. Patterson was asleep. Her breathing was slow. Her face was slack.
Maya sat next to the bed. She took the old woman's hand.
"I'm not ready," she whispered.
Mrs. Patterson didn't respond.
"I need more time. I need you to teach me more things. I need you to tell me more stories about Henry."
The old woman's chest rose and fell.
"I love you," Maya said.
She stayed until visiting hours ended.
---
That night, she went to the roof.
The sky was clear. The stars were visible. The water tank hummed.
Leo came up behind her. "You're going to freeze."
"I don't care."
He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. "She's not gone yet."
"She's not here either. Not really."
He stood next to her. They looked at the stars.
"Maya."
"Yeah."
"My mother died in a hospital room. I was holding her hand. I thought I would die too. The pain was so big." He paused. "But I didn't die. I kept going. You will too."
"This is different."
"It's always different. But the pain is the same."
She leaned against him. The blanket was warm. The stars were bright.