Lydia's POV
Zoey lay curled beneath the hospital blanket, too small for the hospital's wide bed. Her body looked pale, almost translucent, because of a battle no one her age should fight. Anyone watching could tell how much pain she was going through, not because she screamed but because she couldn't.
"Ma'am, your daughter's health is getting worse..." the doctor said gently.
At that moment, I knew something had to be done because my world could not collapse just like this. I sat down beside Zoey, wondering what I'd done to deserve this. This child is too innocent to be going through this type of pain.
I screamed out loud, not minding where I was, pacing around.
My voice echoed so loudly that the nurse had to come and calm me down. The nurse asked me to pray and just believe, but I've been doing that. I screamed again. I've prayed, and I've also sought medical help.
At this point, I wish my mother were alive to help me bear this pain. But then again, I wouldn't want her to see Zoey, her grandchild, in this condition, lying there helplessly and in so much discomfort.
My mom died ten years ago while I was still pregnant with Zoey. She also went through a lot of pain before giving up the ghost. I've tried to be a strong woman since my mom died and my dad decided to bring in Miss Beatrice, who now claims to be my stepmother.
I didn't like my dad, nor do I like Miss Beatrice. He brought her into our home just two months after my mom passed away. I've always suspected my dad was having an affair when my mom was alive. His nagging, coming home late, and irritation at everything used to piss me off then. After my mom passed, I decided to focus solely on my daughter.
I stood still at the hospital window, looking at the tree branches wandering outward like they were trying to set themselves free, winging through the air with an unhurried grace, as if the sky invited them to dance.
"Ma'am," the nurse called while I was standing there, lost in thought. "You can take her home now," she said, trying to cheer me up with a warm smile on her face. "Please make sure she gets some rest, and also make sure she takes all her medication as prescribed. Please don't forget her chemotherapy sessions."
I nodded, too drained to speak. I hadn't eaten anything since morning, not even a glass of water, and I was really dehydrated.
I noticed Zoey's temperature had improved, and her skin wasn't pale any longer. I asked her if she was still feeling weak, and she shook her head.
"No," she said softly.
Hearing that calmed me. I believe Zoey will be fine, I thought, struggling with my thoughts because I must stay positive and be strong for my daughter.
Zoey stared deeply into my eyes, and I'm sure she could see the fear and tension. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Zoey reached out for my hands with her soft fingers that felt lighter than air. I held her gently, afraid of hurting her, afraid of letting anything happen to my daughter.
"Mummy, are you okay?" she asked.
"Yes, baby, I'm good," I said, trying to force a smile that wasn't there and was very difficult to muster, but I forced it anyway.
At that moment, I promised myself to work harder than usual so I could take care of my daughter because she was all I had. I work as a baker at Sugarwhisk Bakery, but the income is no longer sufficient for Zoey and me. I need to get an extra job, I said to myself silently.
The ride to the house was quiet. I spent most of my time staring at the glistening lights of the city, trying to distract myself from remembering my daughter's state earlier. New York is a very beautiful place indeed. The lights glow up the city, the moving vehicles, and the beautiful people walking down the sidewalk.
"Baby, what do you want to eat?" I asked Zoey, who sat quietly in the backseat of the cab with me.
"I want pizza," she replied slowly.
I smiled. I knew the answer before she even said it. Pizza was Zoey's favorite. We stopped at Joe's Pizza, and I got her the margherita, just the way she liked it.
When we got home, Zoey ate her pizza and lay in bed peacefully. I sat down beside her, adjusting her pink blanket to cover her well.
"Baby, are you okay?"
I asked Zoey, whose eyelids were heavy and slowly blinking open and closed. Her breathing became steady and quiet, her cheeks relaxed, and she was yawning already.
"Yes, Mummy, I'm fine," she murmured.
I'm sure she was tired of me asking her that question, but I just wanted to make sure my baby was doing okay before I slept.
Looking at my daughter sleeping, at that moment, I couldn't control my thoughts. I counted the hours I couldn't work, and I thought about getting another job to make enough money to take care of my daughter's medical bills and her school tutor fees. Time is not even by my side any longer, I thought to myself.
I need to act fast.