“Her vitals are stable, but the damage to her left hemisphere is significant. She won’t be speaking for a long time.”
I walked beside the gurney as they wheeled it down the long ramp toward the exit doors.
Maya walked on my other side, her steps slow but steady, her hand resting on my arm.
We reached the loading bay where the ambulance stood waiting, its red and blue lights reflecting off the dirty snow piled against the concrete barrier.
The paramedics lifted the gurney, sliding it smoothly into the track on the ambulance floor.
My mother did not look at me.
Her eyes were fixed on the metal ceiling of the vehicle, her expression blank, stripped of the aristocratic pride that had defined her entire life.
Our relationship would never be repaired; it was simply something to be managed now, from a distance, through medical bills and quiet arrangements.
