Chapter 187

Latisha's breath caught in her throat. She slowly approached the bed. The nurse was still trying to call Preston, but it was clear he had blocked the number.

Latisha looked down at the old woman on the bed. So much had changed in such a short time; she seemed to have aged years. Her eyes were closed, and it was impossible to tell if she was asleep or unconscious.

Latisha tugged on the nurse's sleeve.

The nurse turned, her expression softening slightly. "Are you her family?"

Latisha glanced at the woman in the bed and gave a small nod.

The nurse let out a visible sigh of relief. “Thank God. Now that you're here, you need to decide. Are we continuing her treatment or not?"

Latisha nodded emphatically.

The nurse frowned. "Then you need to go pay her bill. She needs an IV. If you're not going to treat her, then you should take her home as soon as possible. We're very short on beds."

Latisha quickly pulled out her phone and typed: [I'll go pay now. Please start her treatment.]

The nurse looked surprised that she couldn't speak but quickly reverted to her professional demeanor. "Once you've paid, just bring the receipt to her doctor." Latisha nodded and hurried off to the billing office. The bill wasn't exorbitant—just over five thousand dollars. She had briefly thought Preston had a change of heart, that he actually cared enough to bring Mrs. Dashiell to the hospital. Now she knew she'd been a fool. He had just wanted to ensure she didn't die in his house. He'd dumped her here to die alone, with no intention of paying for her care.

Latisha had never known a son could be so heartless.

After paying, she took the receipt to the doctor.

"Elderly patients often have multiple chronic conditions," the doctor explained. "You have to be very careful with them. A complete cure is unlikely, but the goal is to make her comfortable."

Latisha nodded, typing on her phone: [How is she now? Is it serious?]

1.n

The doctor studied the chart. "Her bloodwork is inconclusive. We should probably do a CT scan. For now, our best guess is that she collapsed due to osteoporosis compleated by severe malnutrition A fall at her age can be very dangerous. You need to watch her closely."

A fall? How could Mrs. Dashiell have fallen?

Worried, Latisha thanked the doctor and returned to the hallway. Mrs. Dashiell was

still unconscious, but a nurse was already setting up an IV.

Latisha found a small, empty stool and sat by the bed, keeping watch just as Mrs. Dashiell had watched over her when she was a child. She wondered if the old woman, lying here all alone, felt as scared as she once had.

Latisha reached out and took Mrs. Dashiell's frail, withered hand in her own.

Perhaps it was the contact, or maybe the medicine was finally taking effect, but Mrs. Dashiell's eyes fluttered open.

Latisha's heart leaped, and she squeezed her hand gently.

Mrs. Dashiell seemed to sense her presence and slowly turned her head. The

moment she saw Latisha, tears streamed from her cloudy eyes.

“Latisha, is that you?” Her voice was a fragile whisper, each word an immense effort.

*I came to see you,* Latisha signed.

At eighty years old, Mrs. Dashiell cried like a small child.

*What happened?*