One Last Miracle [complete]

III

III

three months, twenty one days...

"It's good news Miss Adams. You're free to go!"

Blinking, I sit up on the bed. Next to me, mum sits straighter, waking from her light slumber.

"What?" I ask, smoothing a shaking hand on the bed sheets.

Doctor Sherwood comes closer to the bed, the grin on his face wider than usual. "You're being released from the hospital. Free to go home."

For a second I hear nothing he says—it's in one ear and out the other. Then, when it finally clicks, disbelief is all I can feel. "You're lying to me. Don't do that. It's not funny."

The grin falls abruptly, a frown taking its place. Doctor Sherwood turns serious, no sigh of humour traceable. "I would not lie to you Miss Adams. In the last week, the cancerous cells have decreased considerably. The drugs are all still in your system and they will continue to work, killing off the cells, even while you're not here."

Mum splutters in disbelief, choking on a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Ma'am, your daughter is being released. I am not joking, I can assure you. She had been cleared to go home."

"Cleared to go home?" mum chokes out, reaching out to clutch my hand. She squeezes it hard enough to cause pain, but I'm barely aware of it, too distracted by overwhelming shock.

Doctor Sherwood nods. "Yes, ma'am."

Then mum does start to sob roughly, lying her forehead over my hand. The sounds are pained, something akin to a wild animal.

I fight back the tears that want to fall, focusing on my doctor. I have to raise my voice to be heard out mum crying loudly. "Where's the 'but'?" There's always a 'but.'

He casts a glance at mum, before his eyes flicker back to meet mine. Clearly, he doesn't want to say it without a guardian hearing.

"Can I use my phone?" I ask. "Just to call my dad. You can talk to him."

When he nods, I reach over to the side table, reaching out a shaking hand to grab my phone. Sliding it open, I call dad, putting it in speaker mode.

My gaze lingers there unwillingly, flashing back to a week ago. James hasn't been to visit me since, nor has he made any other contact.

Suffice to say, it's more than a little disheartening. But what can I expect?

Strangely though, sometimes I wake to find something sugary on the bedside table. The nurses don't tell me how it got there . . . but somehow, instinctively, I know James is involved somehow.

It doesn't explain why he hasn't made contact.

The phone in my hands starts to ring and I focus on it, staring at the photo of dad's face. A second later, his frantic voice comes through the phone, so loud it's almost a shout.

"Alyson? What's wrong? Are you okay? Do you need me to come see you there?"

Mum's inconsolable at this point, her sobs loud. I have to raise my voice just so it carries over the phone. "Dad, I'm okay. I'm fine. You don't have to rush here. Doctor Sherwood needs to talk to you though." That fact that my voice remains even is something I'm proud of.