Chapter 7 - The Night She Finally Went Home
Four months after Roman first walked into St. Catherine's, Lily's doctors called the family into a meeting.
Shelby sat beside her.
Roman stood behind the chair.
The doctor smiled.
"We have something different to discuss today."
Lily frowned.
"That sounds suspicious."
"It is."
The doctor turned the tablet around.
"Your condition is still serious. That hasn't changed."
Shelby squeezed Lily's hand.
"But you've stabilized more than we expected."
Roman didn't move.
The doctor continued.
"We believe you can transition out of inpatient hospice."
Shelby stared.
"What?"
Lily blinked.
"You mean go home?"
"With extensive support, yes."
Roman's face changed.
For once, he looked completely stunned.
Lily looked at him.
"You look weird."
"I don't know what to say."
"That's new."
Shelby laughed and cried at the same time.
The doctor explained everything.
Home nursing.
Equipment.
Medications.
Emergency plans.
Regular evaluations.
It wasn't a cure.
No one pretended it was.
But it was time.
Two weeks later, Lily left room fourteen.
The nurses lined the hall.
She wore a purple hoodie, carried the wooden music box, and had the silver key around her neck.
Shelby pushed her wheelchair.
Roman walked beside them holding three bags and a ridiculous stuffed bear someone had given Lily.
At the elevator, Lily stopped.
"Hannah?"
I walked closer.
She handed me a Polaroid.
It showed Roman asleep beside her bed, mouth slightly open, astronomy book on his chest.
On the bottom she had written:
HE SNORES.
I laughed.
Roman looked offended.
"I do not."
"You definitely do."
Shelby nodded.
"You did when you were twelve."
"Traitors."
Lily smiled.
Then her expression softened.
"Thank you."
I hugged her carefully.
"Go home."
The apartment Shelby chose was modest.
Sunny.
Close to the hospital.
Roman hated the neighborhood parking.
Shelby loved that fact.
The first evening, they ate pancakes for dinner.
Lily took one bite.
"These are terrible."
Roman looked at Shelby.
"You made them."
"You bought the wrong mix."
Lily pointed at both.
"You're both bad at this."
Roman stood.
"I'm ordering food."
"No."
Shelby grabbed the spatula.
"We're making another batch."
Roman stared at the burned pancake.
"This is why restaurants exist."
Lily laughed so hard she had to catch her breath.
Everyone stopped.
For one frightening second, old fear returned.
Lily waved them off.
"I'm okay."
Shelby sat beside her.
Roman remained standing.
Lily looked at him.
"Sit down, Uncle Grumpy."
He sat.
The music box rested on the counter.
The wall behind them was already covered with photographs.
Shelby in treatment.
Roman with the purple nail.
Lily laughing.
The old lake photograph.
Baby Lily.
And one new picture.
The three of them outside St. Catherine's.
On the bottom, Lily had written:
THE PEOPLE WHO CAME BACK.
Roman stared at it for a long time.
Shelby noticed.
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"Pretending you don't have feelings."
"I don't."
Lily laughed.
"You cry all the time."
Roman pointed at her.
"That information stays in this family."
Shelby smiled.
"We are a family."
The room became quiet.
Roman looked at his sister.
Then at Lily.
For twenty years, he had believed some mistakes could never be repaired.
Maybe some couldn't.
The lost years were still lost.
The pain still happened.
Shelby still had recovery ahead of her.
Lily still had a serious illness.
Nothing about their future was guaranteed.
But family wasn't built by pretending the past never happened.
Sometimes it was built by finally showing up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
At exactly 7:10 that evening, Lily opened the wooden music box.
The same fragile melody filled the apartment.
Three notes.
A pause.
Four more.
Shelby began humming.
Roman leaned back in his chair.
Lily smiled.
"You know what?"
Roman looked at her.
"What?"
"You kept your promise."
He glanced at the clock.
7:10.
Then back at her.
"I told you I would."
Lily reached for his hand.
Roman took hers.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the windows.
Inside, no one was alone anymore.
May you like
And for the first time in nineteen years, Roman Voss stopped wondering whether he could ever get his family back.
Because his family was already sitting beside him.
