Chapter 11 - The ICU Waiting Room
The sterile, chemical smell of antiseptic replaced the damp rot of the family home. The rhythmic *beep... beep... beep* of the heart monitor in the cardiac intensive care unit was the only sound breaking the silence of the hospital corridor.
It was 2:30 in the morning.
Warren sat beside me on the vinyl waiting room chairs, holding two paper cups of lukewarm coffee. His shirt was torn at the collar from the scuffle with Sterling, and a dark bruise had begun to bloom along his jawline.
"The doctor said the antidote worked," Warren said softly, placing his hand over mine. "The digibind neutralized the digitalis in her bloodstream. Her heart rhythm has stabilized. If she had drank that second cup tonight... she wouldn't have survived the hour."
I didn't answer immediately. I stared down at the plain silver band on my left ring finger.
I thought of the dress. The two-thousand-dollar silk gown that had represented my freedom, my hard work, my small attempt at elegance after thirty years of self-sacrifice. Mother had tossed it into the fire with a smirk, convinced that Sterling was her savior and I was nothing more than an ungrateful parasite.
"Do you want to see her?" Warren asked gently. "She's awake. The nurse said she's asking for you."
I took a deep breath, the cold hospital air filling my lungs. "Yes. I need to see her."
I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Room 412.
Bernice lay propped up on the mechanical bed, surrounded by tangled wires, nasal oxygen tubes, and pulsing monitors. Without her sharp tongue and spiteful posture, she looked impossibly small, shrunken, and hollowed out. Her gray hair was matted against her pale forehead.
When the door clicked shut behind me, she slowly turned her head. Tears were streaming silently down the deep creases of her sunken cheeks.
May you like
"Elaine..." she whispered, her voice barely louder than the hum of the fluorescent lights.
I stood at the foot of the bed, keeping my distance. "The police found three more bottles of poison in Sterling’s apartment," I said, my tone flat, devoid of anger or warmth. "They also found pawn tickets for your grandmother’s heirloom jewelry that went missing six months ago. The jewelry you accused me of stealing."
