Three Days on the Pediatric Ward Showed Me What My Mother Tried to Steal From My Son

Neither of them had sent one message asking whether Caleb was out of surgery.

Neither of them had asked whether his heart rate had settled or whether the surgeon had cleared his incision.

I put the rest of the turkey sandwich back on the plastic tray and shoved the tray away.

At five minutes to four I went back up to the ICU wing on the fourth floor.

Room 4B was silent except for the steady electronic beep of the vital signs monitor by the window.

Caleb lay propped against two white pillows, his face still pale beneath the bright fluorescent ceiling panels.