"She has two fractured ribs and a dozen other fractures that have partially healed over the years," the doctor reported, their tone a mix of professionalism and concern. "Thankfully, the scans show no internal bleeding, but she should remain in the hospital for a few days to ensure she's truly out of the woods."
The caseworker nodded solemnly, her auburn hair braided neatly down her back, the strands catching the sterile hospital light. Her cat-like, amber eyes flickered with a mix of resolve and sadness as she adjusted her glasses. Dressed in business-casual attire—a tailored blazer and slacks—she exuded an air of calm competence. But the slight furrow in her brow betrayed the weight of her thoughts.
"Thank you, doctor," she said softly, her voice steady. "I'll make sure she gets the care and support she needs."
"Does she have any relatives who can be with her during the healing process?" the doctor asked, casting a concerned glance in my direction.
The caseworker sighed, her fingers briefly tightening around the clipboard she held. "Just her mother, but we haven't had any luck reaching her. She's been out of contact for years." Her tone was measured, but the hint of frustration was evident. "There is a potential family I'm working with, a promising placement, but it's hard to say how stable it will be given her age. She's nearly an adult." The caseworker sighed.
The doctor nodded, their lips pressing into a thin line. "Well, stability will be key for her recovery, both physical and emotional."
"And I agree completely. However, she's nearly eighteen," the caseworker said, her voice tinged with regret. "Any family willing to take her in would expect compensation, but unfortunately, that support ends the moment she legally becomes an adult."
"I'll be fine," I said, sitting up in bed. My voice cracked slightly, but I pushed through, determined to sound steady. "I've got some savings and a driver's license. I'll find a job and get an apartment in town. It's not a big deal."
Both the caseworker and the doctor turned to face me. The caseworker's expression shifted quickly from surprise to mild embarrassment.
"Oh! You're awake," they said, recovering quickly but not quickly enough to hide the slight flush on their face.
I let out a sigh, brushing a hand through my tangled hair. "Yeah, I'm awake. And could you maybe not talk about me like I'm not sitting right here?"
The caseworker's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. "I'm sorry, Miss Fair. I didn't mean to… well, we didn't know you were… awake."
The doctor cleared their throat, stepping forward with a practiced calm that only made the caseworker's awkwardness stand out more. "We were just discussing next steps for your care," they explained, their voice neutral but kind. "But it's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine and ready to get out of here," I said, my voice sharp with annoyance.
"Eden, the doctor—"
"I heard you," I interrupted, cutting the caseworker off mid-sentence, "but I don't want to stay."
The caseworker's expression didn't waver, her tone firm but measured as she spoke. "Eden, as your appointed guardian, it's my responsibility to make the best decisions for you. Based on the doctor's recommendations, you're staying here until you're discharged." She smiled at me—one of those forced, professional smiles that didn't reach her eyes. "You'll be safe here."
"Safe," I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice. "Right, because staying in this cold, sterile hospital where strangers poke and prod me is the definition of safe."
Her smile tightened, but she didn't rise to my bait. "Eden, I know this is hard—"
"No, you don't know," I snapped, cutting her off again. "You sit there making decisions like this is just another case for you. Like I'm just another name on a file. You think I don't know what you told the doctor earlier?" My voice grew louder, trembling with anger. "That you're having a hard time finding a family for me? That even if you do, they might not keep me once I age out of the system? Is that supposed to make me feel safe?"
Her composure cracked for a split second, just enough for me to see the flicker of discomfort behind her professional mask. "Eden, that wasn't meant for you to hear," she said, her voice softer now, almost apologetic. "And I didn't mean it the way you think."
I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "Oh, sure. You didn't mean it like that. You just meant I'm nothing but a burden, right? Someone no one wants, not now, not later. Just say it."
"Eden, stop," she said, her tone sharp now, but I wasn't finished.
"You think you're helping me?" I continued, my words tumbling out in a rush. "All you're doing is making me feel even more alone than I already am. How am I supposed to trust anything you say when you've already admitted no one wants me?"
The room fell silent, the tension between us thick and suffocating. I turned away from her, staring at the window as my vision blurred with unshed tears.
"You don't know what it's like," I whispered, more to myself than to her. "To have no one. To be nobody."
For a moment, she didn't respond. Then, her voice came, quieter, steadier. "Eden, I won't pretend I know what you're feeling. But I promise you this: I'll do everything I can to find you a home where you're cared for, not just now, but for as long as you need."
I clenched my jaw, refusing to look at her. Her words were probably just another empty promise. I couldn't afford to believe them. Not now. "I just want to belong, that's always what I wanted. I've been alone for so long, why should I even expect that it would change now?"
"Eden, sweetie, I will find you a permanent placement," the caseworker said, her tone steady and unyielding. Her words carried a conviction that felt unshakable.
Somewhere deep down, I wanted to believe her. Maybe I even did. But admitting that? No chance. My anger burned too hot, clouding any semblance of trust I might have felt.
"Get out," I whispered, my voice low but laced with bitter anger. "I just want to be left alone. Go talk about me somewhere else."
She paused for a moment, as if considering what to say next, but in the end, she didn't press. "Alright," she said softly. "I'll be back to check on you in an hour."
Her heels clicked against the floor as she made her way to the door, each step echoing the distance between us.
As soon as the door shut behind her, I turned my glare to the doctor. "I don't want you here either," I said sharply, crossing my arms over my chest.
He hesitated, as though weighing his options, but finally gave a small nod. Without a word, he turned and left the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him the only sound in the now-silent space.
Alone at last.
I sank back into the stiff hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of their words and promises lingered in the air, but I shoved them aside. I couldn't let myself believe them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
When the hospital phone rang, I almost didn't move to answer it. For a second, I thought about ignoring it. Whoever it was, I didn't care, I didn't want to talk to anyone. But something inside me made me pick it up anyway.
"Hello?" I said, my voice flat.
The sound of Officer Snyder's voice instantly softened my mood. "I hope you got enough rest," she said, her tone light and familiar.
I smiled a little, despite myself. "I had some wild dreams," I admitted. A particular part of the dream came to mind, tugging at me to mention it. I hesitated. Was it even worth saying? It was just a dream, after all.
"What's wrong?" Snyder asked, reading me like always.
I sighed, appreciating how quickly she picked up on things. "I think my mom is dead," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. Saying it out loud felt like a punch to the gut, sharp and heavy.
There was a pause on her end. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "I had that feeling too," she said. "Did you dream about it?"
"Not exactly," I said, unsure how to explain. "It's more like… I was told in my dream." I hesitated again, the thought forming more clearly in my head. "I think she was killed on my birthday."
Snyder was quiet for a moment, and I could imagine her processing what I'd said. "Do you remember anything from that day?" she finally asked, her voice calm but focused. "I know it was a long time ago, but anything could help."
I closed my eyes, trying to push through the fog of old memories. "They were fighting a lot that day," I said, the words coming slowly. "My dad was mad because my mom bought me a birthday present. She even baked me a cake."
I stopped, swallowing the lump in my throat. "He never celebrated my birthday. He said there was no point celebrating… a disease to the Earth."
Saying it made my chest tighten, like the pain was fresh all over again. Snyder didn't say anything at first, letting the weight of my words settle.
"That must have been so hard, Eden," she said eventually, her voice gentle. "But your memories could be important. If you feel ready, you can tell me more later."
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Maybe," I whispered.
For the first time in a long while, I felt something stir inside me. It wasn't peace—not yet—but it wasn't the usual emptiness either.
"I'll come by tomorrow to talk more about what's going to happen in the next few days," Officer Snyder said, her voice steady but kind. "I want you to be ready for what's ahead. And when you're discharged, I'll take you to your house so you can gather your things."
I didn't know what else to say, so I settled on, "Thank you."
"Cheer up," she said with a hint of encouragement before hanging up the phone.
"I will," I whispered, though it felt more like a promise to myself as I slowly placed the phone back on the wall.