Page 55 of The Call She Made That He Never Answered
My fingers froze on the dialysis machine's monitor screen.
Maya was half-reclined in the dialysis chair, two thick needles in her arm—one drawing blood, one returning it. Dark red blood crept through the transparent tubes, into the dialysis machine for filtering, then back into her body.
"He said taking Vivian to the obstetrician was a misunderstanding. It was Vivian's sister who's pregnant. He was just helping arrange the doctor."
"Mm-hmm."
I made a noncommittal sound, keeping my focus on Maya's treatment. I had to watch everything. Was she sweating, dizzy, nauseous? Any alarms on the machine? Air bubbles in the lines?
"Ella, are you listening?" Maya's voice turned sharp.
"I heard you." I shifted my gaze to my sister's face. She looked worn down, her skin a waxy yellow with no trace of color. Her cracked lips were rimmed with white flakes—the result of strict fluid restriction.
"I think he's telling the truth."
"Let's not dig up old ground." I stood and reached for a cotton swab, wetting it to moisten her lips.
"But what if it really was a misunderstanding?"
"Maya." I cut her off. I could see where this was going. If I let her keep talking, she'd spend the next hour defending Lucas over a few words of explanation.
"Leopards don't change their spots. Even if this time was a misunderstanding, what about next time? I'm not spending the rest of my life wondering if my husband's cheating. That's no way to live."
Maya sighed and fell silent, letting me tend to her lips with the damp swab.
I studied my sister's face. The contours of her youth were still there, but the life beneath her skin was draining fast, consumed by disease. Hereditary kidney disease—like a curse. Our father died young from it. According to the medical literature, the disease hits men harder. Women have a chance, but with proper care, it shouldn't progress this fast.
If Maya had gotten regular checkups, if she hadn't worked herself into the ground... her kidneys wouldn't have failed so soon.
This was my fault.
The year our mother abandoned us, Maya dropped out of school. She worked three jobs, around the clock, just so I could eat, go to school, and grow up like other kids. She was like a tree desperately soaking up nutrients but refusing to shed leaves, holding herself together to shelter me from the storm. Until she broke.
Looking at her lifeless face, my heart felt like it was being sawed apart with a dull blade. Maya never had her own life. She sacrificed everything for me. And now, sick as she was, she was still worrying about my lousy marriage.
Lucas, that bastard. He knew patients can't handle stress, but he still called in the middle of the night to explain himself? I wanted to call him and tear into him, but reason reminded me: the best way to hate someone is to stay far away. No contact. No connection.
My stomach clenched. Nausea surged up my throat. I didn't even have time to tell the nurse. I just covered my mouth and stumbled out of the dialysis room.
Must be the stress. My hormones were all over the place. Three months pregnant, and the morning sickness was getting worse, not better. Every time I got emotional or exhausted, it hit harder.
I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. In the mirror, I looked pale, with dark circles under my eyes. I didn't look much healthier than Maya in that hospital bed.
I scrubbed my hands clean and went back to the dialysis room.
Maya was staring at the door, worry spilling from her eyes.
"Ella, go home and rest." Her voice was thick with concern. "The nurses can take care of me."
"The nurses have a dozen other patients. I'm not leaving you." I avoided her gaze as the nurse shut down the dialysis machine and removed Maya's needles, wrapping the puncture sites.
I helped Maya walk back to her room. As we rounded the corner, a woman in a faded brocade coat stood by the door, a worn suitcase at her side.
The moment I saw her, I froze.
"What are you doing here?" The words came out sharp, disbelieving.
"Girls," my mother said, pulling her suitcase closer. She looked almost humble. "You should've told me you switched hospitals. I looked everywhere."
