A Thousand Times Enough

⋆ Chapter 9 ⋆

Chapter Nine

FiveForty-Five A.m

IX. • °

"Josie, wake up, kiddo..."

My dad's voice tugged at me before his hands did, pulling at the edge of my blanket.

"Dad?" My voice cracked as I wiped my eyes, struggling to focus. "What's going on?"

"We have to go. Get your shoes on and come downstairs. Now." He was already halfway to the door.

"Wha—"

"No questions, Josie. Just move. Please." His voice cracked, and then he was gone, footsteps thudding fast down the stairs.

Still half-asleep, I sat up and squinted at the soft glow of my bedroom lamp. Something was wrong. He sounded urgent—scared, even. That wasn't like him. Not even a little.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake myself up. My shoes were on the top shelf of the closet. I slipped them on, grabbed a random jacket off the floor, stuffed my keys in the pocket, and bolted for the door. I had no clue where we were going, but the only thing spinning in my head was one question: Where's Mom?

Was she still at work?

By the time I made it downstairs, he was already in the car. I locked up and climbed in beside him.

He didn't say a word. Just turned the key, shifted into drive, and peeled off.

The wind howled softly through the crack in my window as we sped down the road. Trees blurred by like faded, dark green ghosts against the night, and my heart beat harder with every mile.

"Dad... I know you said no questions, but—" My throat tightened. "Where's Mom? Is she okay?"

He didn't look at me. "I... I don't know."

That answer knocked the air out of me.

I turned and stared at him. Searching. Waiting for a smirk, a laugh, something to let me know this was all just some weird joke. That we were on our way to pick her up and she'd get in the car complaining about her shift like always. That everything was fine.

But it wasn't.

He looked like he hadn't slept. Like he'd seen something he couldn't unsee.

When I looked down, the dashboard glared 9:30 PM back at me. That couldn't be right. Mom's shift ended at 8. She should've been home by now. We pulled into the hospital, and everything inside me locked up.

Dad jumped out before the car fully stopped, sprinting through the front entrance. I ran behind him, heart in my throat.

"I'm here for Sandra Lou Carter—I'm her husband, Milton Carter. Where is she? Is she okay?"

The woman behind the desk looked up calmly. Too calmly.

She picked up the phone and dialed. "I have Milton Carter here for his wife... Sandra? Yes. Okay."

She nodded once, hung up, and stood. "The doctor would like to speak to you. Follow me."

My dad followed her down a hallway. I didn't move. I couldn't. My legs were frozen, my stomach hollow. Something inside me knew.

Then I saw the doctor—tall, grim-faced, clipboard in hand—approach them.

I couldn't hear his words, but I watched my dad's shoulders cave in. "No... are you sure there's nothing you can do? Please—anything?"