Chapter two

Chapter Two

Shattered Dreams

The soft murmur of my mum and David roused me before dawn. My brother, voice weak and strained, was asking for a glass of water, and Mum was desperately pressing the nurse's call button, but no one came.

"I can get the water," I offered, already sliding out of bed. Mum nodded, her expression a blend of exhaustion and gratitude.

I wandered down the quiet hospital corridor until I spotted a water dispenser. Filling a cup, I hurried back to our room, where David was propped up against his pillows.

I watched as Mum supported him while he took sips, the effort clear on his face. "Does it hurt?" I asked, concern creeping into my voice. He managed a slight smile, trying to mask his pain.

"It's okay, Diana. Your big brother will be fine." I knew he was downplaying it for my sake, and I held my tongue, not wanting to force him to share more than he was comfortable with.

Hours slipped by, and the hospital transformed into a whirl of activity—beeping machines, hushed voices, the rustle of scrubs.

A nurse bustled in, quickly changing David's sheets and bedpan before placing a tray of food in front of him.

Just as she was about to leave, Mum's voice pierced the air with impatience: "When can we see the doctor?" The nurse paused, her expression softening.

"He's just with another patient. I'll let you know as soon as he's free," she said, and with a reassuring nod, she exited.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a young doctor in a pristine white lab coat, a report pad clutched in his hands.

"Is this David Peterson?" he asked, glancing at us expectantly. We all nodded as one, bracing ourselves. "I have good news and bad news," he began, adjusting his glasses.

He held up an X-ray, his brow furrowing. "Your bones are fractured quite badly, and—"

"What does that mean?" Mum interrupted, her voice quivering with dread. "Will he be able to walk again?" Tears began to slide down her cheeks as she begged silently for a miracle.

I felt a churning knot in my stomach, waiting helplessly for the doctor's response. I glanced at David, who lay silently on the bed, his expression vacant.

When the doctor finally spoke, his words felt like a crushing blow. "He won't be able to walk again." The air thickened with despair, and Mum's sobs shattered the silence, a heart-wrenching sound that echoed in the room.

The doctor slipped away without a word, leaving us drowning in our sorrow. After a few moments, Mum gradually composed herself, her tears giving way to a heavy resignation.

But David remained eerily calm, staring blankly ahead, as if processing an incomprehensible reality.

Eventually, a nurse entered, breaking the oppressive silence with the practicalities of discharge—a prescription and a bill.

"Once the bill is settled, he can go home," she informed Mum, who glanced at the documents with desolation.

"We can't even afford to get you discharged," she lamented, her voice thick with despair. David, sensing her distress, took the papers from her hand.

"Diana, check my bags and find my ATM card," he instructed gently. "I have some savings; it should cover it."

As I took the card and made my way to the reception, reality crashed over me like a tidal wave. David, once our family's anchor, was now unable to support us.

I had my college plans, but those dreams were fading fast. I envisioned my best friend moving on without me and the possibility of losing our home due to unpaid debts.

The weight of our circumstances pressed heavily upon me, and before I knew it, tears spilled down my cheeks, unstoppable and raw.

"No, I can't let this happen to Mum," I whispered to myself, each tear a release. I steeled my resolve—tomorrow, I would find a job.

I would take on whatever work I could, even multiple jobs, if needed.

Clenching David's card in my hand, I pushed through the despair and finally settled the bill, feeling a flicker of purpose surging within me.

Once we were free to go, a kind nurse provided a wheelchair for David, and we hailed a cab that accommodated his needs.

The ride home felt surreal—exhausted from the emotional toll, yet relieved to be heading back together.

Once inside, Mum retreated to her room, weary. I settled beside David in the sitting room, trying to mask my worry. "Do you need anything?" I asked cheerfully, but he shook his head, donning a serious expression.

"Diana, we need to talk." His tone made my heart race; I braced myself.

"I never expected this to happen," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion.

"I had plans for you. But now...it's not possible for you to go to college. You need to take care of Mum." Each word pierced through me, and tears filled my eyes.

I'd tried to be strong, but hearing his words laid bare the reality I'd tried to avoid. We both succumbed to tears, the weight of it all overwhelming.

I leaned into him, trying to be a source of comfort. "It's okay, David. We'll get through this. I'll find a job tomorrow," I promised, though my heart ached with uncertainty.

Mum finally emerged, her weary smile fading when she saw us teary-eyed.

"What were you two talking about?" she asked, feigning cheerfulness. David covered, "Just catching up, Mum," and she smiled weakly before retreating to the kitchen.

I jumped up to help her prepare dinner, but my heart sank when I saw the nearly empty fridge. Mum always made do, but I felt the urgency claw at me—the need to get a job was now paramount.

The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on my young shoulders, but I steeled myself for the fight ahead.

After dinner, we retreated to our rooms, the emotional fatigue settling in. Lying in bed, I felt restless as thoughts spiraled.

College dreams felt like a faraway fantasy; the burden of my family's future rested squarely on me now. The prospect was frightening, and I worried about being enough to support us all.

Just as exhaustion claimed me, the darkness enveloped my room, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep, the worries lingering like shadows in my mind.