4: 4
The door closed, and the room went quiet again. Claudia drifted off in my arms, her breathing as light as a dry leaf.
I took out my phone, opened Letitia's chat thread, and saw the post she'd just put up—
A box of medicine, still sealed, captioned: "Next month's supply is restocked too. Thanks to a certain someone for quietly transferring the money again. Love you."
Right and wrong, I no longer had the energy to care. I fought down the sting behind my nose and looked down at my daughter. "Claudia, do you want to go out and play somewhere?"
4
Claudia said she wanted to go to Disney.
Every year on her birthday, she'd wish for a Rina Belle doll.
Lance always dragged himself home in the middle of the night, saying he'd been working late.
Every time, he promised to buy Claudia a present, and every time he said he'd been too busy and forgot.
It wasn't until last year that he finally came home with a paper bag, and inside was a doll with coarse, cheap fur.
Claudia was thrilled. She hugged it all the way to preschool, and came home with her eyes red from crying.
The other kids told her it was a knockoff. When I confronted Lance, he trotted out that same tone about being frugal.
"The real Disney one is over three hundred. This one was fifteen. Doesn't it play the same? Kids can't even tell the difference between real and fake."
That night I held Claudia as she cried herself to sleep, and I turned that doll over and over in my hands.
The tag was printed with crooked English letters, and loose threads poked out of the seams, each one like a needle in my heart.
I placed an order online that same night, the real Rina Belle, rush shipping, delivered into Claudia's hands first thing the next morning.
She rubbed her eyes awake, saw the fluffy pink little fox on the nightstand, and froze for several seconds before she lunged over and hugged it, tears dropping onto the doll one after another.
"Mommy, this one's so soft."
I kissed her forehead. "Claudia deserves the best."
Now she was curled in my arms, her little face sallow, her eyes sunken, and still she tipped her head back and smiled at me. "Mommy, if we go to Disney, can we bring Rina Belle? I want her to see the castle too."
My throat closed up hard, and I nodded and nodded.
That afternoon I signed the discharge papers.
The doctor said staying in the hospital wouldn't do any more good, and it was better to let the child spend her last stretch of road happy.
Once I'd packed everything up, I carried Claudia out of the inpatient building, and the sunlight was bright enough to make her squint.
She lay against my shoulder and looked back the way we'd come, asking softly, "Isn't Daddy coming to pick us up?"
I was quiet for a moment, then held her tighter. "Daddy's busy. Mommy is enough to be with you."
She said oh, and obediently buried her face in the crook of my neck.
In the cab to the airport, I booked two tickets to Los Angeles, and a room at the park's hotel.
The text pinged in that I'd maxed out my credit card, and I shut off the screen right away.
Claudia fell asleep leaning on my leg, a little smile still at the corner of her mouth, though I couldn't tell if she was dreaming of castles and fireworks.
While we waited at the gate, my phone buzzed.
A message from Lance: "I asked about Claudia's medicine. It'll arrive next week. Don't worry."
When I didn't answer, he sent another: "Where are you? The nurse said you were discharged?"
I pressed the power button off, straightened Claudia's Rina Belle, and shielded her from the harsh sun.
The boarding announcement came over the speakers. I picked up my daughter and walked toward the gate without looking back.
