Liam
—Sweetie, don't you want me to read you a story?
—Mom, you just read me one, and besides, I'm leaving now.
Her gaze held a hint of sadness, which she quickly masked with a forced smile.
—Alright, don't forget to brush your teeth and go to bed early. You have school tomorrow, and say hello to your dad for me. Tell him to stop working so much and come visit me.
—I'll tell him, —said Liam, looking down.
—Emma, —a nurse said as she entered the room with a tray, —it's time for your shots.
They were in a small room on the top floor of Middlesex University Hospital. It was a financial relief that the insurance and the courtesy of the hospital director helped cover Mrs. Sollem's treatments, as she had been a nurse here for many years. However, the insurance and the courtesies were running out.
Liam looked at his mother. She seemed to be getting thinner by the day. She used to be the most beautiful woman in the neighborhood, with her gorgeous chestnut hair that made the neighbors envious and her sky-blue eyes that could charm anyone who dared to look into them. But there was nothing left of that now. In her place lay a gaunt woman who survived on IVs and vitamins. Her eyes no longer sparkled as they once did, and her hair, ravaged by chemotherapy, had long since fallen out. Despite the pain, Mrs. Sollem never complained or showed any sign of weakness in front of her only son.
—Bring on those shots, I'm not afraid of them, —exclaimed Emma, placing her hands on her hips and puffing out her chest with a smile on her face.
—Mom, please don't do embarrassing things, —said Liam, covering his face but then smiling. —See you tomorrow, Mom. —He said goodbye to his mother with a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug.
Liam picked up his backpack, which was sitting by the bed, and left the room, closing the door behind him so he wouldn't have to watch her pretend anymore. He knew she was putting on a brave face to comfort him. So he, too, had to pretend he was okay, even though seeing his mother in this state hurt him deeply. Only a miracle could save her, Dr. Brown had told him. And a miracle was what he was hoping for.
—Did you read *The Ugly Duckling* again? —asked Dr. Brown. He always waited for Liam outside the room to ask him the same questions.
—Yes, and she's having memory lapses again, —Liam replied anxiously.
—I see.
It was always the same conversation, always ending with that "I see." All that was left was the usual chat with the nurse at the floor's reception desk. Liam was sure she was going to call him, but he didn't hear his name, so he glanced toward the reception area. There was the nurse in her blue uniform, and next to her stood a man. He was somewhat older, wearing a brown jacket and holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. The man and the receptionist were arguing.
—What do you mean the insurance doesn't cover these costs? —shouted the man, clearly exasperated. —This is outrageous, charging so much for a room. It's not like this is a 5-star hotel.
—Listen, I don't set the prices, —said the nurse, equally annoyed. —And if you raise your voice at me again, I'll have to call security to have you removed. Besides, you're several months behind on payments.
After she said this, the man's demeanor deflated.
—That's actually why I'm here, —the man said, head down, pulling out his wallet and showing his card.
—Alright, with my colleague here, please, —said the receptionist, pointing to the nurse beside her. Then she looked around, searching for something, and apparently found it. —Liam, come here, please.
He had tried to use the argument as a chance to slip away, but he wasn't quick enough. The man turned and locked eyes with Liam for a moment. Both seemed to be thinking the same thing: since this was the "miracle" floor, they must both be carrying the same pain. The man finished his payment and walked down the hallway, disappearing into a room.
Liam had been coming to the hospital for almost a year. He knew most of the doctors and nurses on the floor, even some of the patients, but this was the first time he had seen that man.
—Liam! —shouted the nurse, snapping him out of his thoughts. He walked over to the desk. —You're curious, aren't you?
—Uh, no. Well, just a little.
—They transferred his wife here a few weeks ago. She's in a complicated situation, —the nurse explained. Liam grew pensive. —Well, changing the subject. The administration is pressuring me. Could you talk to your father? I can't postpone it any longer.
His father had died when he was two, so he barely remembered him. The person the nurse was referring to was Robert, his stepfather. A few years ago, his mother and Robert had gotten married. At first, everything was fine—the days were calm and pleasant. They were expecting a child, but then Emma's illness began, and everything fell apart. Mrs. Sollem kept getting worse, her husband was worried about the baby, and Liam could only watch and pray. Despite everything, in the seventh month of pregnancy, the family lost the child who was supposed to be their new member. Robert blamed her for losing their son, which only worsened her condition. Because of that, she had to be hospitalized for better treatment, and then they received the news that her illness was terminal and incurable. Since then, Liam's stepfather had become a hysterical drunk, blinded by the pain of losing his child, blaming his wife, and taking it out on the boy.
—I'll talk to him, —the boy replied. The nurse didn't seem very convinced.
It was getting late, and Liam had to get up early tomorrow. Hopefully, Robert wouldn't be home—if it could even be called a home anymore. Either way, it was better to get back soon. He headed to the elevator and pressed the button to call it. But as he did, he felt a shock run through his hand. He shook it, wincing in pain, but at least the elevator had arrived. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the first floor. It was strange that no one else was in the elevator. He looked at his reflection in the mirror—a nine-year-old boy stared back at him. He had long black hair; before, people had mistaken him for a girl because of his delicate features. Now, that was impossible. His voice had deepened, his skin was a bit pale, he had slight dark circles under his eyes from nightmares, and his dull blue eyes carried the tired look of someone just trying to get through each day.
When the elevator reached the first floor, the doors opened to reveal a doctor and a man in a black suit. The doctor looked surprised, while the man in the suit stood with his arms crossed, his face serious.
—But... what? —the doctor exclaimed in surprise.
—You're just wasting my time, —the man in the suit replied.
Liam walked past them and couldn't hear what the doctor said next.
—I swear it wasn't working. I even heard a bang, —the doctor said, chasing after the man in the suit.
The neighborhood of Tottenham wasn't known for being the best in London—quite the opposite, in fact. Londoners advised tourists to avoid it, especially at night, as it was a dangerous place. Due to the settlement of immigrants from different countries, it was the most diverse area of the city. Because of cultural clashes and the struggle for control of the neighborhood, it was the cradle of multiple crimes: drug dealing, theft, and even stray bullets were fairly common. However, it was home to our protagonist. He had walked these streets so many times, almost daily, that he knew them like the back of his hand. He knew which streets to avoid and which were safe. After all, he was very mature and intelligent for his age—or so he liked to think. After leaving the hospital, he took a bus that would drop him off near his house on Hanbury Street.
His house was white, simple, with only two floors and a wooden porch. When he reached the front door, Liam hesitated for a second, but then he pulled the key from his pocket and went inside. He closed the door quietly behind him and heard the murmur of voices—it was the TV, which was on. He tiptoed to the living room, where his stepfather was asleep, bottle in hand, in front of the TV. "Damn it," he thought and continued walking silently to the kitchen. He'd grab something to eat and quickly head up to his room. In the kitchen, he found some bread, so he opened the fridge to look for butter. It was full of alcohol bottles, and as he tried to reach the butter at the back, his hand knocked over a bottle, which shattered on the floor.
Everything fell silent until:
—Kid! —Robert had woken up, and he wasn't happy. —Do you have any idea how much each bottle costs, you idiot? This is the last straw. I'm supporting you and your mother, and all you do is get in the way. I'm tempted to throw you out of here.
"Then throw me out," Liam would have wanted to shout back, if it weren't for the fear he felt. Robert had gained weight from drinking, but he was still intimidating when he yelled.
—Clean this up and wash those dishes too, —Robert barked, pointing at the floor and the kitchen sink. He grabbed a bottle, the bag of bread, and went back to the living room.
Liam got a mop and a broom to clean up the broken glass. Then he went to the sink to wash the dishes and cups. There were also empty bottles. It seemed his stepfather had brought "company" over again. When he finished washing, he picked up the empty bottles to put them in a box, but the floor was still wet, causing him to slip and lose his balance, dropping the three bottles he was carrying. Robert would be angry again, and this time it wouldn't just be yelling. As he wondered how he'd get out of this, the bottles fell. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He held his breath until the bottles hit the floor with a soft thud. None of them broke. He felt so relieved that he didn't question it. He picked up the bottles and put them in the box.
It seemed he wouldn't be eating anything tonight. He briefly thought about asking Robert about the payments but decided it was better not to bring it up today. He quickly went up to his room and locked the door. Lying on his bed, he began to cry, wondering when his mother would come home, when all the anguish he felt would disappear.
When he would be happy again.