Chapter 33: The Doctor's Report
The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt suffocating as the doctor cleared his throat, his voice a mix of professional detachment and underlying concern. Mary's parents sat across from him, both of them tense, their hands clenched tightly in their laps. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound breaking the suffocating silence, each beep a reminder of their daughter's fragile state.
"We've conducted several tests," the doctor began, adjusting his glasses. "Mary's condition is serious. She's in a coma induced by an overdose. The drugs she ingested have severely affected her central nervous system, and we are doing everything we can to stabilize her."
Her mother, Mrs. Emily, covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking slightly as she tried to stifle a sob. Mr. David, usually the steady one, looked lost. His heart raced as he absorbed the weight of the words. He was struggling to breathe, his mind racing through an overwhelming array of thoughts.
"We need to continue monitoring her for the next few days, and we'll have to perform some procedures to keep her stable. There's a chance she may wake up, but it's not certain. We'll need to run additional tests and possibly administer more medication."
Mary's father nodded absently, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
The doctor cleared his throat again, his tone becoming more matter-of-fact. "The cost of the treatment and procedures is high. I strongly urge you to arrange payment as soon as possible. The treatment is crucial, and without it, her condition could worsen."
Mr. David's breath caught in his throat. He could barely process the doctor's words. His hands trembled.
"I don't have the money," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I've been out of work for months, and my mechanic shop barely brings in anything. My wife's job as a librarian doesn't pay enough anymore... we're struggling to make ends meet as it is."
The doctor's face softened, but he said nothing. There was nothing more to say—only the harsh reality of the situation remained.
As the doctor left, the weight of what was happening hit them both. Mrs. Emily wiped her eyes, still trying to hold back the tears. The quiet devastation of it all hung over them, pressing down on their hearts.
---
Days passed, and the house seemed quieter. The emptiness left by Mary's absence was profound, a vacuum that nobody knew how to fill. Mr. David spent hours sitting in Mary's bedroom, trying to make sense of the mess his life had become. It felt like a cruel joke—one where his daughter, who had been full of promise, had spiraled so far that she now lay in a coma.
Her friends visited, their faces drawn and tired, but it wasn't enough. They couldn't help her now.
Her brother Mark pained a fresh wound.
But the hardest part, for everyone, was realizing the truth: Mary had been suffering for so long, and no one had seen the signs. It was a harsh reflection of their own failure to support her through her struggles.
Mr. David paced around the room, his head spinning with the thought of how little he had done to prevent this. Mary's struggles with her self-harm addiction had been kept secret for so long, and he felt like he had failed her as a father.
His eyes landed on something on her desk—a small piece of paper, folded neatly. A note. Mary had written something.
He sat down slowly, his hands trembling as he opened it.
---
The note read:
"My dad and mom, I'm sorry for this. I've been struggling with my self-harm addiction all this while, and it's weighed me down. I started thinking about it all the time, and I lost my focus. That's why my grades slipped. But recently, I met Ryan and Mona, and they betrayed me. They took advantage of me and they manipulated me. I want to say I'm sorry for everything I've done, but I know it's too late. I can't take this anymore. I want to end it here."
---
Mr. David's heart stopped. His eyes blurred with tears as he re-read the note. It was like a punch to the gut. All this time, they had been so caught up in their own struggles—her mother working tirelessly at the library, his own work failures—that they hadn't seen how deeply Mary had been hurting. How could he have missed it? How could they have let it get this far?
He clutched the note in his hands, feeling the weight of his daughter's words press down on him like a hundred-pound weight. In that moment, it felt like the world had collapsed around him, the regret and grief washing over him in waves.
His mind spun in a frenzy of guilt and helplessness. Could he have done something differently? Should he have known? Should he have noticed the signs?
But it was too late for questions now. His daughter was fighting for her life, and all he could do was hold onto the hope that somehow, she would pull through.