“Sweetheart, hold on just a little longer. Daddy will be here soon,” I said as I clutched my daughter, Ivy Reeves’ hand tightly.
Watching her breathing grow more labored, I couldn’t stand it any longer and dialed Clinton Reeves’ number again. The phone rang for a long time, and my hope dwindled with every second.
Just when I was about to give up, the call connected, and Clinton’s irritated voice came through, “What now? Can’t you just have a doctor give Ivy some medicine? Why do I have to come back?”
“Clinton, Ivy’s condition is serious! The doctors won’t administer anything without you here. You’re the only one who can help her,” I shouted out of frustration.
In the background, I could hear the roar of a crowd and cheers for a goal.
Clinton’s tone turned placating as he said to someone, “Relax. Your favorite player’s about to hit the field. Let me finish this call.”
Then, his voice turned cold when he spoke to me, “I’m well aware of Ivy’s condition. Stop using her as an excuse to drag me back. Otherwise, I won’t hesitate to cut you off.”
Before I could respond, the line went dead.
Ivy’s fragile voice pulled me back. “Mommy, I don’t want to die. Is Daddy not coming?”
I fought back tears and forced a smile to comfort her, saying, “No, sweetheart. Daddy loves you the most. He’ll be here. Just hold on a bit longer.”
Turning to Dr. Marlon, I pleaded desperately, “Please, Dr. Marlon, think of something.”
He sighed and shook his head helplessly. “I’ve done all I can. If Dr. Reeves were here, he’d know what to do. Let me try calling him again.”
I nodded and stared at Dr. Marlon expectantly. However, all of our hopes were dashed when the automatic voice said, “This number is no longer reachable.”
Before I knew it, the heart monitor beeped sharply, then fell into a flat line.
“Quick! Get the defibrillator!” Dr. Marlon commanded.
The sight of Ivy’s body covered in red rashes pierced my heart like a knife.
I was pushed aside by the medical team. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor with tears blurring my vision.
I begged silently to anyone listening, “Please, don’t take Ivy. She’s just a child.”
But when I saw the white sheet being drawn over her tiny body, my world shattered.
Throwing myself over Ivy’s still form, I wailed, “No! She’s not gone! Look! Her hands are still warm!”
A nurse pulled me back. “Mrs. Reeves, my condolences. Let her go in peace.”
Ivy’s death crushed me in ways I couldn’t describe.
I forced myself to handle her funeral arrangements, while Clinton was nowhere to be found. I had even forgotten about him as I numbly wiped Ivy’s urn over and over again.
…
Three days later, Clinton finally returned. I gave him a hollow glance and said nothing.
Clinton frowned in annoyance. “What’s with the sour face? Here’s a gift for you and Ivy. Stop sulking.”
