Sarah cared for her, bathed her, fed her, but it was mechanical, like a daycare worker. The girl’s tantrums irritated her so much that she had to restrain herself. When Lily started getting sick often, Sarah completely lost it.
She constantly snapped and threw fits. She wasn’t used to sleepless nights or self-sacrifice. Waiting anxiously for James to come home from work, she’d hand off the unwanted adopted daughter with relief and go meet her friends.
In her father’s warm, loving arms, the girl calmed down instantly. In a soft voice, he recited poems, told fairy tales, or, when he ran out of ideas, simply described his workday. Lily listened to everything, her huge blue eyes wide open.
Eventually, it came out that Sarah wasn’t meeting friends but an old college classmate of James’s, Michael. He had always been interested in her. After residency, an influential relative got him a job at a private clinic.
Apparently, that seemed like a better option to Sarah. With Michael, she felt young and carefree again, unburdened by an annoying child. Home now felt like a prison.
She didn’t hesitate long. One day, she packed her bags and said goodbye. “Sorry, James, I can’t do this anymore.”
Sarah’s betrayal wounded him deeply. Bitterness and resentment gnawed at his soul, keeping him awake at night. The same Sarah who said she loved him, who promised to stand by him in joy and sorrow, had turned away and left for another man.
Lily only asked once where Sarah had gone. Her disappearance didn’t seem to upset the girl much. Her dad was, and remained, her entire world.
The loving gaze of his little daughter was the best medicine for James. She’d climb into his bed at night, snuggle close, and fall asleep. Her tiny breaths tickled his ear, her little nose sniffled adorably, and her small hand with toy-like fingers rested over his heart, shielding it from grief and trouble.
So they lived, just the two of them. It was tough. James was torn between home and work.
Sometimes, a kindhearted neighbor, Mrs. Dorothy Miller, helped out. Lily grew into a bright, cheerful child. A little bird of a girl, she filled the house with carefree, joyful chatter.
Recently, Lily discovered a beautiful singing voice, and her school choir chose her as a soloist. The annual fall concert was approaching, and she’d been buzzing about it nonstop. For the first time, she’d sing alone, without the choir.
James solemnly promised not to miss her big moment. He’d arranged that date off with the department head in advance, hoping nothing like today would happen. Leaving the operating room, he met a young janitor scrubbing the windowsill.
The air reeked of sharp, distinctive disinfectant. “Hannah, this smell will kill not just germs but surgeons too,” he quipped. The girl laughed, tucking a dark curl back under her cap.
Her perpetually sad eyes sparkled with amusement. Hannah had started working in the department recently. She bustled around all day, diligently cleaning, disinfecting, and responding to patients’ and staff’s requests, while others, after doing the bare minimum, hid in quiet corners away from the boss’s eyes.
Her modest clothing betrayed her financial struggles. The 25-year-old, pretty janitor was a topic of gossip among the staff. Such a sweet girl could marry well and stay home or get a good profession, they’d say in their spare time.
Hannah stayed quiet and avoided talking about herself. James treated all staff equally, with respect. He listened, supported, and offered advice.
Everyone reciprocated his kindness. Even the reserved Hannah opened up to him about the real reason she worked at the hospital.
Her family had always been poor. Her father died before she was five. As far back as she could remember, her mother, Linda, was always sick.
Linda suffered from constant headaches, and doctors couldn’t pinpoint the cause. “It’s just nerves,” they said, never diagnosing her. Work was hard for her, and when Hannah finished high school, her mother’s health deteriorated further.
She developed tremors in her hands and severe joint pain. A terrifying diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease meant her condition would only worsen. Linda was granted disability, and Hannah felt it was her duty to care for her.
She took any job that allowed her to stay close to her mother. Linda loved her daughter dearly and insisted she could manage alone. She wanted Hannah to continue her education and live a normal young woman’s life.
But her body and mind were slowly failing. Memory lapses appeared. Linda forgot where she left things or whether she’d taken her medication.
She often cried, speaking of some terrible guilt for which she was being punished with her illness. Her once-vibrant face was now etched with wrinkles that revealed her suffering. She began insisting Hannah place her in a hospice, not wanting to be a burden.
Hannah protested, but one day, returning from work, she found her mother lighting candles and placing them around the apartment. Dementia was taking hold; her mother couldn’t be left alone for a moment. But how would they survive? Hannah gave in but resolved to stay nearby.
James genuinely pitied the poor girl. After her confession, they became close and often had heartfelt talks. His phone rang—the hospital’s chief physician was summoning him.
At the hospital, opinions about Dr. Richard Bennett varied. On one hand, the hospital was reasonably well-stocked with medications and equipment. On the other, persistent rumors circulated about rigged tenders.
There were whispers that payments for VIP rooms went straight into the chief’s pocket. James had been hinted at more than once that Dr. Bennett took kickbacks for wealthy patients he operated on. “Dr. Carter, some important people have requested a scheduled surgery. You’ll do it,” the chief said brusquely, as always, stating it as a fait accompli.
He added, “And make sure it’s top-notch, naturally.” James’s agreement wasn’t required, and Dr. Bennett buried himself in some paperwork. James left the office silently.
On the appointed day, Lily woke up even earlier than her dad. Excited, she darted around the apartment, anxious not to forget anything. Her costume, socks, hair bows.