Trey
The flight stretches on longer than expected, offering only a brief hour layover—a compromise I had to settle for given the urgency. Kiara throws up several more times, amplifying the worry that had already taken hold before we boarded the flight.
As we navigate the airport in haste during the inconvenient layover, my thoughts are overwhelmed by the fear that time is slipping away, that Mom might pass before I can reach her. The haunting notion of never seeing her or hearing her voice again weighs heavily on my mind.

Once we finally arrive at the hospital, my concern deepens. Kiara may need to be admitted before the night is over. I've never seen someone so sick, it can't just be a stomach bug. What if it's something more severe? The unbearable scenario of losing both my mom and the love of my life plays out vividly in my thoughts.
In the waiting room, we encounter Candy, Jeremiah, and unexpectedly, William. Candy is knocked out, Jeremiah is engrossed in his phone, and William sits with arms crossed, his face clouded with emotion.
"Any updates?" I inquire, taking a seat across from them and gently settling Kiara onto my lap. She snuggles against my chest, softly moaning in pain. The air in the waiting room is thick with worry and fatigue. I don't have the energy to ask why William is here, but if his presence keeps him away from the temptations of alcohol, then so be it.
"They're still trying to stabilize her," William answers, his voice weighted with a mixture of exhaustion and guilt. "I just don't know what she was thinking. I just lost my fiancée, now my ex-wife is in critical condition. This must be karma."
I'll be damned if "Karma" kills my mom because of his past mistakes.
"No, it isn't your fault. It was her own personal stupid decision," I say, my tone firm. How many times did we tell her that her alcoholism was way out of control? How many times have I warned her not to drink or drive? "I just hope it doesn't cost her her life."

"What if she doesn't make it?" Jeremiah asks, looking up at me with eyes filled with sadness. The question hangs in the air, laden with the collective fear we all share in this moment.
"We'll get through this together," I declare. Despite the pain weighing on my chest, I understand the need to be a pillar of strength for them. Being the man of the household since I was six years old, this is my responsibility.
An hour later, Kiara is asleep in my arms. She couldn't sleep on the plane, so it seems the dissolvable tablets she's taking are finally staying in her system. But she still hasn't been able to eat or drink.
As soon as the cafeteria opens in the morning, I plan to grab whatever I can for her, desperately hoping she'll manage to keep something down.

The doctor enters the room, exhaustion evident on his own face. "Is this the family of Magnolia Johnson?"
A wave of anxiety washes over me.
Shit. If they use her full name, does that mean she didn't make it?
"Yes," I reply hesitantly. The room stirs with sudden alertness, Kiara included. All eyes fixate on the doctor, awaiting the news we're both anxious and terrified to hear. The silence stretches, heavy with the unspoken fear of what comes next.
The doctor takes a deep breath before speaking, "I'm Dr. Rodriguez. I need to update you on her condition. We were able to stabilize her, but she's still in critical condition. It was a serious car accident, and she suffered multiple injuries. Right now, we're doing everything we can, and she's in the intensive care unit. I'll be transparent with you, she's currently in a coma. We'll continue to monitor her closely, and I'll keep you informed of any changes."
My world seems to come crashing down. She's in a coma? What if she never wakes up again? "Can we see her?" I ask, my voice strained.
Dr. Rodriguez nods, "Yes, but please keep the visit short. She needs all the rest she can get."
The heavy silence lingers, the weight of Dr. Rodriguez's words sinking in. Everyone's eyes seem to gravitate toward me, as if they're waiting for my reaction before allowing themselves to react. I take a moment to collect myself, realizing that my response sets the tone for everyone else in the room.
"Thank you, Dr. Rodriguez," I manage to say, suppressing the lump forming in my throat. "I will go first."
He nods in acknowledgment. "She's in room 448 when you're ready."
As he leaves, Kiara starts to stand up and move to the seat beside me, but I gently grasp her arm. She looks down at me with a mix of worry and sadness. "I need you. Please come," I whisper.
Her eyes widen, understanding the depth of my plea. She nods and takes my hand, a silent agreement to stand with me through whatever lies ahead. As we approach the door, I feel the collective gaze of the room, their silent support a comforting weight on my back.
The corridor ahead seems endless as I step into the quiet intensity of the unit, where my mother lies in a coma, the uncertainty of her fate hanging up the air.