Chapter 4 Type One

• Emma’s POV
• I made my way back to the eatery, my mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. But no matter how much I tried to focus, I kept getting drawn back to the same thing—my father’s reckless behavior. Ever since he married Bianca’s mom, Helena, it was like he’d erased my mother and me from his life. We were nothing to him anymore.
• It had been tough enough, watching him struggle while he was with my mom—unable to find a steady job, barely making ends meet. Then, out of nowhere, he meets Helena. A woman who’s practically dripping with wealth and status. The change in him was instant. Suddenly, he’s this polished, well-dressed man, with his new fancy job, all thanks to Helena’s connections. It was as if he’d forgotten everything—forgotten us.
• And the worst part? He was cheating on my sick mother with this woman. He called her a "friend." Yeah, right. What kind of "friend" starts an affair with a married man? And not just any married man, but one who's still in a relationship with his dying wife. I mean, who does that? Of course, not all situations are as messed up as mine, but this one? This one was just... unforgivable.
• I couldn’t even wrap my head around it. I sighed, shaking my head, trying to clear the thought from my mind. The anger, the betrayal—it was all too much. As I focused back on the road, I thought about how my father had done the most absurd thing imaginable. He’d announced his marriage to Helena like it was some kind of joke, and just like that, they were married.
• Then, everything changed. Helena had our house renovated—turned it into some shiny, high-class palace. My dad got a promotion, a “better job.” All the perks, all the luxuries. And me? I was left out of it all. All that money, all those gifts and improvements? They were going to Helena, her daughter, and, of course, my dad.
• I swallowed my frustration and muttered, “Crap!” under my breath, feeling the familiar heat of anger bubble up. And just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket, cutting through my thoughts. I reached for it, already knowing it would be something that’d throw me off track. I glanced at the screen and saw it was a call from the hospital.
• “What now?” I murmured, already exhausted from everything going on in my life. I answered, not knowing what to expect.
• “Hello, dear. Is this Emma?” The voice on the other end made my stomach drop—Mrs. Lydia, the nurse at the hospital.
• “Y-Yes, Mrs. Lydia, it’s me,” I stammered, my voice betraying the unease I felt.
• “Dear, you need to come to the hospital right away. There’s something you need to see.” She didn’t say more, and before I could process what she meant, the call ended.
• See what? Was something wrong with my mom? My heart skipped a beat, a sinking feeling consuming me. I couldn’t waste time figuring out the details.
• Should I call Mr. Levin, explain that I needed to go to the hospital while on the company’s bike?
• But there was no time to think it through. I shook my head, my decision already made. I would explain to him later. For now, I needed to focus on my mom—if something had happened to her, I needed to be there. No more delays.
• I spun the bike around, revving the engine, my hands tight on the handles as I sped toward the hospital. My thoughts were clouded with anxiety, each passing second making it harder to breathe. Was everything alright with her? What had Mrs. Lydia meant by “something you need to see”?
• I didn’t have the answers, but all I knew was I had to get there. Fast.
• I barely parked the bike in the hospital lot before I was rushing inside. My heart hammered in my chest as I sprinted through the sterile hallways, the bright lights above flickering slightly, but all I could focus on was getting to my mom. Every footstep felt like it echoed through the walls, amplifying the anxiety twisting inside me.
• The nurse at the front desk barely registered my frantic question as I demanded the way to my mother’s ward. She pointed to the left without saying much, but I was already moving before I could thank her. My mind raced with a thousand horrible possibilities. What had happened to her? Why was Mrs. Lydia calling me out of the blue?
• I reached my mom’s room, my breath shallow, my palms sweaty. I pushed open the door without hesitation, but the sight in front of me made my knees nearly buckle.
• My mother lay in the bed, looking pale and fragile, like a shadow of the woman she used to be. Her eyes were closed, and the sterile hospital room seemed to swallow up any warmth. But she was alive. That was all I could grasp onto for now.
• Dr. Lydia was standing by her bedside, checking something on the clipboard in her hand. When she saw me, her expression softened, but there was something unsettling about the way she looked at me. I swallowed hard.
• “Dr. Lydia, what’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling more than I wanted it to.
• The doctor stepped away from my mom’s side, her gentle eyes filled with concern. “Emma, I’m glad you made it,” she said, guiding me out of the room into a quieter, more private hallway. “We need to talk.”
• I followed her, dread creeping up my spine as I tried to make sense of the situation. What could possibly be so urgent? My mind kept circling back to the moment I’d gotten the call, the brief, cryptic message from Mrs. Lydia.
• “Is she going to be okay?” I finally managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper. The fear was overwhelming.
• Dr. Lydia stopped walking, and I saw her take a breath before she met my gaze. “Emma, it’s not great news,” she said carefully, her words making my stomach churn. “Your mom’s condition has progressed. She’s been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, Stage 2.”
• My body froze at her words. It was like the air had been s*ck*d out of the room. Type 1? Stage 2? The words didn’t make sense. I couldn’t make sense of them.
• “What do you mean by Stage 2?” I asked, the words barely leaving my lips. My mind couldn’t grasp the magnitude of it.
• Dr. Lydia looked at me with sympathy, but her tone remained professional. “It means that your mother’s body is no longer able to produce enough insulin on its own. Stage 2 is when the condition becomes more difficult to manage. It’s a serious progression. We need to start treatment immediately.”
• The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked rapidly, trying to keep myself together, but I could feel the tears welling up. This wasn’t something I’d expected. This wasn’t a call I’d been prepared for.
• “So… what happens now?” I asked, my voice breaking slightly.
• “We’ll start her on insulin therapy right away,” Dr. Lydia continued. “She’ll need regular monitoring, medication adjustments, and a change in her diet. It’s going to be a lot to manage, but with the right care, she can live with it.”
• I nodded absently, but the weight of it all was suffocating. My mom... my mom had diabetes. And the thought that it was Stage 2 made my stomach drop further.
• “Is she... is she going to be okay?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper. I needed reassurance. I needed hope.
• Dr. Lydia gave me a soft smile, but it wasn’t enough to ease the panic rising within me. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said. “But it’s going to be a long road, Emma.”
• “Her insurance wouldn’t pay it all, I'm sorry, you have to pay for some bills.” She said and I nodded my head vigorously.
• “How much is it?” I asked hastily.
• “You go ask the reception, dear. I don’t know but you have to drop it today so her treatment can start.” She said and I nodded my head with a sigh.
• I felt my knees go weak, and for a second, I leaned against the wall for support. The hospital seemed to spin around me. This wasn’t how I’d imagined my life turning out. My mother was sick—sick in a way that wasn’t just going to go away with a little care and attention. This was a lifelong battle. And I didn’t know how I was going to handle it. How we were going to handle it.
• “I’ll keep you updated on her progress,” Dr. Lydia added. “But for now, let’s focus on getting her stabilized.”
• I nodded silently, feeling the weight of her words sinking into me. Every part of me wanted to break down, but I couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
• I needed to be strong—for her.