“I’m telling you, he’s not going to make it,” she said in an unfamiliar, cold voice. “Why don’t you just come down yourself and speak with the doctor if you don’t believe me? They’ve got nurses and all the care he needs there. That’s why they came up with this palliative care, after all… it’s what people do.”
Ethan was born two months prematurely and immediately taken to the intensive care unit. At first, they said nothing, but then there was a glimmer of hope—he began to breathe on his own and gain weight. Even when he was discharged, he remained so tiny that John was afraid to hold him for fear of causing harm. Yet when little Ethan awoke and wept softly in the night, Sarah wouldn’t get up with him, so John had to learn to manage somehow. Sarah refused to take him to the doctors, insisting they were to blame, claiming that all her tests and ultrasounds had shown everything was fine. But how was it fine? He was three months old and couldn’t even hold his head up.
John himself made the doctor’s appointments, tried to understand the baffling medical jargon, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, enduring the tests with his son, closing his eyes like a child whenever the nurse searched for a vein. Eventually, he reached the geneticists in the regional center, who explained that help was possible for Ethan, but special medications were needed. That’s why John took on a job as a contractor—his friend had long invited him, promising good pay, but Sarah wouldn’t hear of it. Now there was no other option. Off he went, thinking his son was with Sarah, all was well… but, alas. His grandmother said nothing to him, though he had sensed she was hiding something.
“Everything’s fine, son, keep working,” she kept saying.
It turned out that it was the grandmother who visited Ethan in the hospital this whole time—she spoke with him, applied cream for bedsores, and performed massages. Sarah had returned to work and hadn’t mentioned a word to him. She only admitted it when John announced he was taking a month’s vacation.
“He’s our son, Sarah!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean, palliative care? Why do you think I’m working so hard? The doctor said there are medicines…”
“What medicines?” Sarah shrieked. “Have you even seen him? You’ve been gone for six months, don’t tell me what I should be doing! I’m still young, I want to live for myself. I can have another child. I don’t want to spend my life changing diapers like my mother did!”
Sarah’s younger brother had cerebral palsy, and when they met, John admired how fragile and delicate Sarah managed to care for him, placing him in a wheelchair and reading books aloud. It was for that reason he fell in love with her. But it seemed Sarah had enough love only for her brother.
“If you don’t bring our son home, I’m filing for divorce,” John threatened.
“Go ahead! Do you think that’ll scare me? I’ve lived without you this long, and I’ll continue.”
He didn’t think she would actually leave. But Sarah left before he even returned. She handed the apartment keys to his grandmother, who had suspected all along but hadn’t told John—Sarah had found someone to move in with over those months.
“Don’t worry, son, we’ll manage. I’ll help you with Ethan, but you need to find work here—alone, I can’t manage.”
John knew this too—his grandmother had been ill for a long time and needed care herself, but he couldn’t repay her debt, as he couldn’t split himself in two.
Grandma had raised John. His mother, an accomplished singer, had left him with grandma supposedly for a month, but never returned. She regularly sent money while he was in school, but afterward, she seemed to decide he could fend for himself. In his youth, John kept telling himself that his mother loved him, but her life was complicated—concerts, shoots, fans… He even went to one of her concerts, bought a huge bouquet of roses, dreaming he’d hand it to her, she’d recognize him, be thrilled, and declare from the stage—this is my son!
But things didn’t go that way: at first, she didn’t notice him for a long time, then eventually took the bouquet without looking and tossed it into a corner. John had spent almost all his salary on that bouquet. After the concert, he fought his way backstage, tried to explain he was her son, but she wouldn’t see him, sent a message saying she was tired and would call later. He waited for her call for a month, never leaving the phone, but she never called.
Now he didn’t even think about her, and if one of her songs came on the radio, he’d immediately change the station, although he used to know them by heart. Grandma had been like a father, whom he never knew, and a mother. And now she became a mother to Ethan too—caring for him as best she could, while John took on a regular job to lessen grandma’s burden. Sarah didn’t even call—worse than his mother—who at least sometimes pretended she had a child.
“John, I had such a vivid dream last night,” grandma recounted one day. “Your grandfather, bless his soul, asked me to bring him water from the well. But I said—how can I carry it when my legs can’t walk? And he answered—everyone here can walk. I looked down, and there was grass—so green, so soft and fluffy. I walked on it, and my feet glided without pain! I filled the water and peeked into the well at the end. There I saw you in a suit and tie, and beside you a lovely girl with dimples on her cheeks. Wearing a veil. Must be a prophetic dream—you’ll find yourself a good wife, not that floundering one!”
“Grandma, what sort of wife? If his own mother wouldn’t care for Ethan, who else would?”
The next day though, grandma didn’t wake up. A vivid dream indeed, but perhaps not about the right thing—now she was bringing water to granddad, not to little Ethan.
John didn’t know what to do next. His mother helped with the funeral, even attended, but it still cost him, and he was too ashamed to ask her for help. Yet a couple of weeks later, she called him herself:
“I found a caretaker for your son. I’ll pay her, don’t worry.”
John was surprised by such generosity and wanted to refuse, saying he needed nothing from her, but reconsidered—now wasn’t the time for pride, not when the medicine was running out.
He expected an experienced woman, someone like those he’d encountered at the hospital with Ethan; they were all similar to his young grandmother—practical and knowledgeable. But his mother, it seemed, was saving money—she sent a barely-out-of-school girl, who confessed this was her first job.
“Don’t worry, I took a special course, and I can manage,” she said confidently, though her voice trembled.
John considered calling his mother to say the girl wouldn’t be able to handle Ethan, but he really didn’t want to talk to her. So he decided to wait, to see if the training amounted to anything.
The girl, whose name was Rachel, called him every half hour.
“Mr. Smith, is it normal that he’s hiccuping?”
“Hold him upright, and place something warm against his back—you can warm a towel with an iron.”
“Mr. Smith, his breathing is so labored, I’m scared!”
“Rachel, use the nebulizer—I told you about it…”
And so on.
But she settled in after a couple of weeks and seemed to manage better. John had to switch to another job—a construction gig with flexible hours, but entirely off the books. They promised good pay, though when he’d see it was another question…
Weekends were now spent with Ethan, as Rachel wouldn’t work weekends, even for extra money—she was learning Chinese, saying she wanted to intern for acupuncture. She was a funny, naive girl, not like his grandma—his nana believed everything on the television, Rachel trusted the internet.
However, on Ethan’s birthday, Rachel came by even on a weekend—she brought him a balloon, which he adored, and a hand-knitted jumper. John was so touched he invited her for tea—he had bought a cake for the occasion. Then they took a walk together—dressed Ethan in the new jumper, laid him in his pram, and tied the balloon to it so he could watch. John realized his son might not make it to another birthday, and it was hard to breathe because of it. But at that moment, pushing him down the sunny street with the balloon dancing in the autumn breeze, there was a sense of peace in his heart.
He didn’t notice Sarah until it was too late, only when they stopped at a crossing. His gaze fell on her heavily made-up face. She stood with other women, seemingly headed for an event. Sarah didn’t see him right away either, her face turning red and blotchy. She turned away, said something to her companions, and hurried across the street.
“Who’s that?” Rachel asked, noticing his tense expression.
John slowly exhaled and replied, “No one.”
“Well, good,” she said, smiling.
He hadn’t noticed her smile before—dimples forming on her cheeks reminded him of something, but what? The blue balloon against the similarly blue sky tugged upward like his heartbeat.
The pay still hadn’t come through. Medicine was running low, and John had no choice—he had to call his mother.
“Have I not done enough for you?” she snapped. “Do you know how much I’m paying that girl? What kind of man are you, that you can’t provide for your own son?”
Shame stifled John’s breath. Was he really unable to support his own child? He turned off the phone and hung his head—wishing his grandmother would put her hand on his shoulder and assure him everything would be okay…
He heard soft footsteps, and Rachel appeared at the kitchen doorway, holding an envelope.
“Here,” she said, placing it on the table.
“What’s this?” John asked, puzzled.
“It’s for Ethan’s medicine.”
He couldn’t quite grasp what she meant.
“Your mother paid me well. Really well, so don’t worry. I was saving for a trip to China, but I don’t need that anymore—I live with my parents, I’ve got everything.”
“But what about your trip…” John stammered, overwhelmed.
Rachel shrugged. “Where would I go now…”
She smiled shyly, her dimples returning. John recalled his grandma and her dream. He blushed to the roots of his hair, unsure why.
“Take it,” she insisted. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’ll pay it back,” John croaked, clearing his throat. Then he asked, “Since you’re not going to China, perhaps you’d like to join us this weekend? Like last time…”
Rachel smiled again and replied, “I’d love to.”
