The Fear
Catrina POV
Catrina hated hospitals, and yet the cold, sterile buildings had given her some of the happiest moments of her life. Lives saved, and new births. Moments of relief, or of calm and peace. Moments that stuck to the back of her mind forever like caramel—sticky and sweet.
It didn’t matter, though.
Those memories were not enough to quell the coldness that slipped down her spine every time she came to this place. It was not enough to stop the dread as it drove a nail through her heart when she opened the entrance doors.
See, for every good memory that Catrina had of hospitals, five more negative ones were just as apparent in her mind.
A shame, really.
Tonight, she could add another good and bad memory to the pile. Good, of course, because her daughter’s young and vibrant life had been saved. Bad, surely, because of why it needed saving in the first place.
In a chair tucked away in the corner of the hospital’s waiting room, Catrina sat alone. Not by her gathered family’s choice, but by her own. It was easier to process the events of the night, and to deal with her raging emotions without the others around. She knew they were worried. She could see the concern and questions staring back from the gazes of her in-laws. Yet, she still had no words to say to them.
Not yet, anyway.
She wasn’t ready.
Still, they wouldn’t push. She knew it.
It was one of the many good things about the Marcellos. Having spent so many years together as a tightknit group—growing and loving—they had learned to give each other space when needed.
Not every problem could be solved by talking. Not all wounds could be healed with an apology. Not all negative emotions could be stopped with a hug.
Time.
Space.
Silence.
Those things were sometimes their best friends.
Like now.
Catrina glanced down at the clipboard in her hands. More hospital forms to fill out. She should have finished with them an hour or more ago, yet here she still was, looking at unanswered questions. These were not like the medical and insurance forms she had filled out earlier when they first arrived.
The questions were different—personal and invasive.
She supposed that was why she hesitated on the answers. That, and she wasn’t sure she knew the answers to some of them.
It wasn’t like Catherine was currently able to answer them.
Or maybe … just maybe, Catrina didn’t want to know the answers to some of them. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty. That little fact was never more apparent to her than now. Now, when she did not want to look back at her daughter’s young life, and see the red flags Catrina might have missed. The flashing lights that might have warned her this horrible night was on the horizon.
Catrina knew the signs would be there.
She had missed them. All of them.
She failed.
She failed her child.
She failed.
Catrina let out a slow breath, and looked at the forms once more.
Has the patient ever self-harmed?
Has the patient ever self-medicated?
Untreated depression?
Trauma?
Words like mental health, emotional instability, and more harsh realities stared back at Catrina. The question that stood out the most above the others also burned the very worst.
Has the patient ever attempted suicide before?
No, she wanted to write. Yet, she didn’t put anything at all. How could she when she didn’t know for sure, and couldn’t currently ask her eighteen-year-old daughter?
How awful of a mother did it make her that she didn’t know the answers? That she was scared to ask? What would Catherine say?
How would Catrina respond if her daughter did actually tell her the truth?
A while back, Catrina watched—unsure of how to help or what to do—as her daughter faded further away from them, and too far out of reach. To where, Catrina hadn’t known. A dark place, surely.
Catrina saw Catherine come closer again—be vibrant and bright again.
Now … this.
Now, a fresh wound on a delicate wrist. Now, a bloodstained bathroom to clean. Now, a broken young woman to somehow save from herself.
A broken heart didn’t do something like this, Catrina knew.
A shattered mind did.
Hopelessness did this.
Wounded hearts did not.
“Mrs. Marcello?”
Catrina looked up to find a man peering down at her. Under his white lab coat, he wore a dress shirt, tie, and slacks. A doctor, most definitely.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I’m Doctor Powski. I was called in by the ER doctor to come down and assess your daughter’s case. I understand that you and your husband have requested she be put under a seventy-two hour psych hold.”
Catrina flinched. “For a suicide watch, yes.”
Powski glanced around. “Is your husband nearby so we can all sit down together and discuss—”
“He stepped out.”
Catrina offered no other information to the doctor. Dante wasn’t handling all of this very well. What else was there to say?
“Okay,” the doctor said, and then he took a seat beside hers. “First, I’ll give you an update on Catherine’s current state. If you would like that, of course.”
“Please.”
“She’s stable now that she’s had two blood transfusions. Her counts are looking positive, as well. She did have quite an amount of alcohol noted in her blood.”
“Likely—she downed two bottles of wine.”
The man nodded. “I see. Well, currently she’s sedated to allow her some time to rest, and continue to get fluids through the IV. Right now, she’s in a private room on this floor, but once the paperwork is signed for the seventy-two hour hold, she will be moved.”
“To where?’
“Upstairs to the Psych Ward.”
Again, Catrina flinched.
Still, she replied calmly, “Okay.”
The doctor openly frowned. “Can I assume by your demeanor that your daughter’s suicide attempt did not come as a surprise?”
“What you can assume from my demeanor is that I am a very composed woman, sir, and nothing else.”
“My apologies.”
Catrina swallowed her nerves, and asked, “Could I see her now?”
“Of course.”
In the hospital bed, tucked beneath white blankets and sleeping, Catherine actually looked peaceful. As though she had no worries, and her life had not been hanging in the balance only a few hours earlier.
The peacefulness in Catherine’s features was only an illusion, Catrina knew. As soon as the sedatives wore off, Catherine would wake up to a life that she and just tried to permanently escape from.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” the doctor said from the doorway. “Then we can discuss the specifics of signing the papers for the hold.”
Catrina nodded. “Thank you.”
The doctor closed the door as he left until only a small slit remained. In private, with no one to witness the cracks forming in Catrina’s very put together façade, the heartache finally started to show. It began with a shaky breath, and then the trembling in her hands came next. The first tear slid down her cheek as she looked upward.
Her relationship with God had always been tenuous at best. A love-hate relationship that pushed and pulled too much from her heart. A give and take where she was always the one giving—it never seemed like she ever got anything back.
That’s how God sometimes works, Cat, her husband liked to say. It’s called faith. We give it to Him without question.
Catrina didn’t see it the same way. She had far, far too many questions for God. She didn’t even know where to begin usually.
Not tonight, though.
Tonight, she knew exactly what she wanted to say.
Please, please … give her happiness and love and little pain. Please, please … give her those things, and I’ll give you unquestioned faith and trust. Please, please …
“Cat?”
At the sound of her husband’s voice coming from the doorway behind her, Catrina quickly wiped the few tears away that had escaped. It didn’t matter, though. When she turned to face Dante, he saw what she tried to hide.
He always did.
In two steps, he was with her. Holding her face in his warm hands, and dragging her close. He wiped away her second rush of tears, and kissed her lips softly.
“It’ll be all right,” he told her.
“Will it?”
“Eventually.”
Catrina let out a weak breath. “Do you remember when she was brand new—thirty-two hours of labor and four deep stiches later?”
Dante chuckled. “Can’t forget it.”
“But do you remember how I felt then? After we brought her home, I mean.”
“Like a baby deer walking on new legs.”
Catrina sniffled, and nodded. “I didn’t know what to do—how to be a mom to a brand new baby. I didn’t know how to take care of her, or where to begin. I was so … out of my element.”
“First time I ever saw you struggle with something,” Dante admitted. “It was strange for me, too, in that way.”
“I’m back in that place again,” Catrina whispered. “Back to feeling like I don’t know how to keep her alive, bello.”
Dante dragged her even closer, and tucked her against his chest. There, she found safety, and home … and love.
But where did Catherine find those things?
Nowhere, clearly.