The high from River doesn't last long. The following day after school, I arrive at my mom's hospital room, a team of doctors standing around her bed.

I've been in hospitals long enough to know that when you walk into three of them, it's obviously something serious. Margie is standing in the hallway, lingering by the door to try and overhear what they're saying. She got the gist of it because she's giving me that look again—that look of pity.

"Um, hello." I walk forward into the room and set my backpack down on one of the chairs, reaching out to clumsily shake one of their hands when they stick it out to me. All three of them look just as young as I am. I'm surprised they're already doctors, if I'm being honest. "I'm Hazel, her daughter. Is everything alright?"

After that, I don't hear much. I catch the key points: her kidneys are failing, she needs to get on a transplant list, and she needs to go to dialysis three times a week now. Of course, I'm replying and asking questions, but I'm not hearing what's coming out of my mouth or listening to what they say. In my head, I'm trying to plan things out. The routine has changed again, so I have to readapt.

"And I can take her after school?" I ask.

They nod.

My mom is still sleeping. She's been sleeping a lot, and now I know why. Not even Margie can cheer me up when she follows in after the doctors leave, ginger ale and ice cream in hand. I don't want ice cream. I don't want soda. All I want are for things to return to normal.

"I just need to..." I let out a deep breath, shaking my head from all the information. "I just need a minute. I'll be back."

"Hazel," Margie interjects, but I'm already out the door.

***

For the life of me, I'll never understand why I came here, of all places. I guess it's because this is where everyone goes when they're at their last resort, right? When they feel like they have no other option?

The huge, daunting cross stares back at me, and it's so quiet in this chapel that I can hear ringing in my ears. Maybe that's because I'm still trying to process what I heard. I'm stressed out and devastated by this news, yet I'm still not crying.

Maybe I thought being in this chapel would give me some spiritual awakening that people talk about sometimes. You know, when they get this life-altering feeling or hear a voice in their head that tells them what they're supposed to do, but instead, all I hear is silence.  A loud, deafening silence.

I want to scream my lungs out at the cross. I want to ask what kind of God, if there even is a God, would make my mother go through this? Would make me go through this? It's not fair. I'm so angry that my hands shake as I bring my knees to my chest on the bench. I press my forehead against them and let out a frustrated sigh.

"Is there room for one more?" Margie whispers. She gives me a soft smile, and when I slowly nod, she walks down the aisle to sit beside me. "Not many places to go here," she answers my next question. "Typically, people come to the chapel after hearing something like that."

"It's not doing much help," I mutter. "Nothing's happening."

"You think something's supposed to happen?" She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "You've gotta pray, baby girl. Have you done that yet?"

I shake my head. "What's the point? Why am I praying to a God letting this happen to her? He's letting her feel this much pain, and if there is a God, if he's real, then I think that's horrible."

It's not like I don't want to believe in heaven. Who wouldn't want to believe in a magical, pain-free place? But I find it hard to hold onto that belief when I constantly see my mom in pain. It gets harder and harder as the months go on.

"Do you believe in heaven?" I find myself asking her when she remains quiet. "Do you believe in God and all of that?"

She huffs and leans back into the bench. "I think talking about religion could make me lose my job."

"Oh, come on. I'm not just anyone, Margie."

"No," she replies, squeezing my shoulder, "I guess you aren't, and if I'm being honest, I don't see what the harm is in believing in Heaven or a God. If there isn't one, then there isn't. But, in my opinion, I'd rather do the believing thing in case there is."

I nod, somewhat understanding her point.

"And I also believe that pain doesn't necessarily come from God. The devil is part of the Bible too, you know, and have you ever wondered why your mom has miraculously survived all of these horrible, horrible things she's gone through?"

I interrupt her. "That's the thing, though. Why wouldn't he just let her go peacefully? Let her pass in her sleep? If she's had enough, then why keep her in misery? Doesn't he control whether or not people live or die? And I'm not saying that I want my mom to die, but sometimes--"

"I understand," she explains, "but maybe your mom isn't done yet. There's a reason she keeps wanting to stick around, honey, and God might be helping her get that chance."

Hearing it from that perspective, maybe she's right, but I'm still uncomfortable praying or anything like that, and almost as if Margie knows what I'm thinking, she grabs my hand and squeezes it. "Would you like me to say a prayer for her?"

***

I show up at River's doorstep around nine. I hate that my heart's first instinct after the diagnosis was to crave his arms around me. Not an ounce of me wants to be so attached to him, but I feel so hollow, like a knife carved out my insides. As much as I hate to admit when I'm weak, I know River would never judge me for it, and I also know that he has the power to make me feel whole again. He can take this feeling away. For an hour, he'll make me forget about the diagnosis.

"Hazel!" Tracy announces in surprise when she opens the door, but I must look as horrible as I feel because I get that look of pity again. "Is everything okay?"

"Um, not exactly. Is River home? I can come back, I just --"

"Of course he is. Come in." She opens the door wider before she bellows out his name up the staircase. He appears within seconds, his eyebrows furrowing together when he sees me standing in the living room.

"Hazel?" he asks. "Hey, you okay?"

I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest as I stare down at my boots. I'm embarrassed to tell him what's going on with Tracy standing right here, and he quickly reads my mind, pulling me gently by the elbow to walk outside and sit down on the porch steps. "What's going on?" he repeats.

Step by step, I take him through my day. What the doctors said, the new diagnosis, and how it'll change my schedule during the week. I vent to him about it all, and when I'm done, he pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around my waist to bring me close. "I'm so sorry," he mutters into my hair. "That sucks, Hazel. It really fucking sucks."

"Yeah. It really, really does."

Being in his arms is more comforting than my heart thought it would be. I nuzzle my head into his sweatshirt, inhaling the scent of mint. I'm so used to it by now that it feels good. It's a constant. River is becoming someone I'm starting to think won't ever leave my side, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

He kisses my hair, then my shoulder, before snaking his arms around my waist. It's almost like he knows I need the reassurance.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks. "Does your mom need anything? What's her favorite food? Her favorite dessert? Maybe I can do something to cheer her up."

I smile sadly, my heart bursting from the compassion that continuously bleeds out of this man's soul. There is something he can do to cheer my mom up. In fact, there's something we can both do. It's the last thing I want to do, but if It will bring a smile to her face, then I'm just going to suck it up and do it.

I sigh. "Actually, there is... About this dance..."

A/N:

Thank you guys soooo much for all of the love on this story!! We got to 61 votes last chapter!!!! (ahhhh!) can we do it again?!

Every vote and comment matters since this is a new story! I appreciate the dedication from you all in each and every chapter <3

Again, PLEASE comment and vote!!!!

See you all next Friday :)

Twitter: believeeexoxo
Instagram: deannafaison_
Tiktok: authordeannafaison