Chapter 5 - The Cost of Treason
Seeing my parents and sister escorted out of the hospital doors by security and the police should have felt like a victory, but as I walked back to the ICU, a heavy exhaustion settled over me. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a hollow ache.
The next three days were a blur of medical jargon, low-grade fevers, and endless waiting. Ethan came by every evening after school, bringing me real food, helping me sort through the medical bills that were already starting to accumulate, and simply sitting in silence when I didn't have the energy to speak. He became my anchor.
On the fourth day, Dr. Harrison walked into the room with a genuine smile.
"We’re going to try to extubate her today," he said softly. "Her lungs have recovered significantly from the trauma, and her neurological responses are sharp. It’s time to see if Daisy can breathe on her own."
My breath caught. "Is it safe?"
"It’s the next step," he assured me.
The process was agonizing to watch. Nurses gathered around the bed, preparing the equipment. I held Daisy’s small, warm hand, whispering into her ear. "You can do this, my sweet girl. Mommy is right here. You’re so strong."
As the tube was carefully removed, Daisy coughed—a weak, raspy sound—and for a terrifying ten seconds, her oxygen saturation levels dipped. I forgot how to breathe myself. Then, her little chest expanded on its own. A deep, natural breath. The monitor steadied.
Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy and unfocused, but then they locked onto mine.
"Mommy..." she whispered, her voice barely a scratchy breath.
"I’m here, baby. I’m right here," I sobbed, burying my face into the side of her mattress, careful not to disturb her lines.
"My... my shoes?" she murmured, confused. "The glitter?"
"The glitter is still there, sweetie. Everything is going to be okay."
While Daisy slept a natural, healing sleep over the next few hours, my phone—which I had kept strictly on do not disturb except for white-listed numbers—vibrated with an alert from my bank app.
Notice: Account Balance Change.
I opened it, confused. My jaw dropped. The joint savings account that my late husband and I had set up for Daisy’s college fund—an account my father had been a secondary co-signer on years ago when I was a college student myself—had been entirely emptied.
Fifty thousand dollars. Gone.
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A text from an unknown number came through immediately after. It was from my father.
“Since you decided we aren't your family anymore, you don't need our help, and you don't get to keep the family money. Good luck paying the hospital bills. Don't ever call us again.”
