The Day Silence Spoke novel Chapter 204

Clifford suddenly gripped her chin, his voice raspy. “Latisha.”

She opened her eyes and saw the dark tide swirling in his. Her gaze flickered. Determined to save her strength for the hospital visit, she pursed her lips, and after a moment’s silence, slowly raised her hands to unbutton his shirt.

He leaned down to kiss her again. The floor was cold against her back, so he yanked the bedsheet off the mattress and threw it down in a messy heap beneath them.

…

Downstairs, the doctor paced anxiously for an hour. Finally, Clifford and Latisha appeared at the top of the stairs. Seeing Latisha’s unsteady steps and flushed cheeks, the doctor’s professional composure crumbled.

The couple walked past him without a word, Clifford leading Latisha out the door. The doctor stood frozen in the living room, utterly bewildered. He had no idea what he was even doing there anymore.

Once in the car, Clifford kept his word and drove Latisha to the hospital. She bolted from the vehicle and ran to the corner where she’d last seen Mrs. Dashiell, but the bed was now occupied by a stranger.

A wave of panic washed over her. She frantically scanned the ward, searching every bed, every hallway, going over the same ground again and again, but Mrs. Dashiell was nowhere to be found.

Clifford stood a short distance away, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, watching her dart through the chaotic crowd.

After searching everywhere, Latisha returned to him, her face a mask of desperation as she looked up at him for an explanation.

He watched her for a few seconds before saying, “She’s upstairs. In a VIP room.”

Latisha stared at him, stunned. Before she could process it, Clifford took her hand and led her to the elevator. The floor above was much quieter, the hallways calm and orderly. He brought her to a private room and pushed open the door.

Inside, Latisha saw the elderly woman lying peacefully in bed. She rushed to the bedside and knelt, her eyes fixed on the steady rhythm of the heart monitor beside the bed. The calm, mechanical beeping was the most reassuring sound in the world. The weight she’d been carrying finally lifted from her shoulders.

She turned back, her expression a complex mixture of emotions as she looked at Clifford. He stood at the door and tilted his head, signaling for her to join him outside.

The doctor nodded, opened his chart, and addressed Latisha. “Given her age and the complications from her fall, a full recovery is nearly impossible. Our goal now is to manage her health and prolong her life as much as we can with medication.”

Latisha began to sign. The doctor watched her hands, a look of confusion on his face, and glanced hesitantly at Clifford.

Clifford translated, “She’s asking how much it will cost. And how long does she have?”

“That depends on the treatment plan,” the doctor replied. “The better drugs are, of course, more expensive. We’re looking at a minimum of five figures a day. As for how long she has… it’s hard to say. A lot depends on her own will to live. It could be a few months, or it could be a few years. It’s a wide range.”

The phrase “five figures a day” hit Latisha like a physical blow. The world tilted, and she had to brace herself against the wall to keep from collapsing.

“You can go back to your work now,” Clifford told the doctor, who nodded and entered the room.

Clifford’s gaze remained fixed on Latisha. He posed a question that cut straight to her soul. “So? Do we treat her or not? This time, the decision is in your hands.”