"You need to spend time crawling alone through shadows to truly appreciate what it is to stand in the sun."

― Shaun Hick

❁dark waves

[13 days prior]

On Tuesday, Louis's teacher, Mrs. Findley had called Metilda for a private meeting. In her overly clogged room, Metilda sat stiffly in the upholstered chair. Mrs. Findley, an old lady with grey streaked hair, looked over the piles of papers. For the past the half an hour, she had been trying to convince a very odd thing to Metilda.

"...all the signs point towards it." She said for the tenth time.

Metilda glared at Mrs. Findley. "He does not have dyslexia."

"Just think about it Mrs. Hamington. With me, he hasn't been picking up things like the other kids. I've had a special education teacher to help with Louis."

"But you're saying that only happens occasionally and that his learning abilities are usually perfectly normal."

"Which is strange, I agree. I think..."

Metilda had enough. She stood up, her palms pressed into the worn, ply table. "Mrs. Findley I appreciated your concern but I don't think your opinion matters in this case. I will have a doctor decided what is wrong with my son."

"I'm sure the doctor will agree with me."

Oh my, Metilda had urge to scarf down an axe down that woman's throat. She smiled sweetly at the teacher. "We'll see."

❁❁❁

Later, Metilda wished the doctor had agreed with Mrs. Findley. Mark Bortsov, a young Russian neurosurgeon, and Bob Lee, a middle aged brain specialist, wore grave faces as they announced to Metilda that little Louis of five, who had barely seen enough life to know what was going on, had a tumor in his brain.

Dr. Lee, folded his hands together and shifted in his chair towards Metilda. He had a dull expression on his wrinkled, long face. "The good news is it's a benign tumor. The bad news is that it is in a portion of the brain that is nearly impossible to operate on."

"He's showing symptom for dyslexia... not a tumor," This seemed like a bad dream to Metilda. It were as though she was speaking to the doctor from the safety of a glass screen called reality.

"That's the funny thing with the tumors. They don't have a definite set of symptoms. Currently," Dr. Lee pointed to the series of CT scans placed on the light box. "The tumor is pushing against the region of the brain responsible for memory and speech."

"One second." Metilda placed a hand on her chest. She could hear Louis outside the doctor's room, laughing and giggling with the nurse. She looked over her shoulder and saw him through the oval window in the door, showing the nurse his arms filled with colorful stickers. The staff ooh and aahed clearly taken into the little boy's charm.

She turned her attention back to the doctor. "What's going to happen..."

Dr. Lee shared a look with Mark Bortsov who leaned against the wall near the door with a nonchalant expression. He shrugged his shoulders, as if not wanting to elaborate or say anything for that matter.

Dr. Lee sighed. "The tumor is exerting a lot of pressure on the medulla oblongata. In layman's term, that means your son could experience shortness of breath, irregular heart rhythm."

"Just cut the chase and tell her." Mark uncrossed his arms and stood close to Metilda's chair. She craned her neck to look up at him. He was a broody, young man with an unkempt stubble, disheveled hair, and deep hooded grey eyes.

He looked directly into Metilda's eyes. "Your son is going to die."

"MARK!" Dr. Lee got up from his chair. "Where are your bedside manners? That is no way to talk to a patient."

Mark didn't seem fazed. His gaze was still focused on Metilda. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it. The pressure that tumor is creating is unbelievable. If we don't operate, he will die."

Metilda looked at Dr. Lee and then at him. "But he said it's impossible to operate-"

"It's not impossible. It's just that the chances of your son's surviving the operation are really low."

Dr. Lee seemed to be getting more furious by the second. "We've already had this discussion Mark. You're not taking the chances. You know this operation won't be successful."

"Now look who has forgotten their bedside manners." Mark muttered under his breath.

Metilda felt her head spin. This wasn't making any sense. There was a deep cliff either way.

She felt a cold hand on her shoulder. Mark's grey eyes were determined. "I can help. In fifteen days' time, I will be ready to operate on your son. The choice is yours. You either accept fate as it is or fight it."

Dr. Lee stared hard at Mark. "You will regret this. This will tarnish your reputation" Those were his last words before he exited the room.

"I want to fight."

He smiled at her, a calm smile. It somehow managed to make her feel a-lot stronger and hopeful.

She gave his hand a firm shake. "Thank you Doctor."

He looked at Louis and tightened his hold on her hand. "It's too early for that."

❁❁❁

Metilda felt the sunlight burning through every pore of her skin as she walked alongside her new friend, Mark. He was a neurosurgeon in the children's ward of St. Mary Hospital. His height rounded off close to Metilda's.

Over the past week while coming for Louis's checkup, they had grown close enough to share the burdens of their hearts. Mark was a good listener and an excellent observer. Metilda had told him about her expedition to make John the kind of father Louis always wanted.

Today, Metilda had left Louis with John. She thought that John deserved some lone time with his son. Coincidentally, Mark had messaged her around the same time, saying that he was off for dinner and would love it if she could accompany him.

Gently, Mark placed a hand on Metilda's back. "Does it still hurt?"

She closed her eyes and released a pained breath. They stood outside the Thai restaurant near Brooklyn lane. "It doesn't matter."

"It does. You're showing all signs for depression. Back ache, loss of appetite, weight loss, and you're constantly tired."

"I've been taking anti-depressants and pain killers."

Mark let his hand drop to the side. His eyes watched the honey-hued sun dip below the horizon. The traffic around them buzzed with excitement as headlights and streetlights became livelier.

"If I may ask, you've been this way for how long?"

Metilda wasn't interested in talking about this. She rubbed her hands together. "For too long."

"You know life doesn't stop because you do."

"I know."

"My friend, she's a pretty good psychiatrist. You could check her out."

Metilda shook her head. "I will after Louis's operation. Right now, my mind won't focus on anything else."

"Understandable."

Mark and Metilda walked in silence for few minutes. Metilda's fingertips brushed against Mark long fingers. She quickly retracted her hand. Mark noticed this and placed a polite distance between their bodies.

When they approached Metilda's car in the parking lot, Mark took both her hands in his, unable to hold it in any longer.

"I will give my everything to save him." Metilda noticed how strong his grip was and how fiery his eyes looked when he said that. "But if I'm unable to." His hold on her hands got firmer. "I won't expect you to forgive me."

It was a natural reaction as Metilda wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Because for a mother, nothing meant more than someone trying to save her child.

❁❁❁

[Present]

Chaos. Noise. Lights. That was the situation when little Louis of five was brought to the ER. Dr. Mark Bortsov took one look at Louis's face and knew that he would have to operate immediately. He quickly barked orders to the staff.

"Put him on oxygen. Now!"

His grey eyes met Metilda's teary red ones. He held his hand up in a reassuring gesture and mouthed the words it'll be alright.

Metilda collapsed on the metal chairs outside the ER. Numb and frightened. She held her hands together in a prayer.

Seconds later, a dazed John returned from the reception.

"They said... something about a tumor and operation." One look at Metilda's somewhat calm yet tensed face. He knew that she had known all along. "What's going on?"

She opened her eyes. Her lips frozen mid-way through the prayer.

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Note: I really like Mark. <3. I hope didn't keep you'all waiting too much. I don't have much to say this time around. Just hold on.