His Debt

14th Debt

My Fault

       DEVON HATED THE SMELL OF the hospital, the scent of the disinfectants; it was a scent close to demise. It reminded a lot of unpleasant memories. She had witnessed so much death.

        Back when she was five, her mom was often admitted in the hospital. She was clueless as to why she was always there. She didn’t have a tad idea about her mother’s illness. No one told her, not even her dad.

        “Why is mommy in the hospital?” The five-year-old Devon had asked her father.

        He crouched down ruffled her daughter’s blonde hair. “Mommy is sick and the doctors will help her heal.”

        “Sick? Why is she sick? Will she be okay?”

        He nodded tentatively. “She will be. She will get well soon. We’ll just have to pray, dear.”

        “Will she play with me again?” She’d asked, concerned.

        He’d smiled at his daughter, a smile that was filled with apprehension and sadness. But she was young and she couldn’t detect her father’s trepidation. “Of course, she will.”

        She’d smiled, her face satiated with hope.

        Six months passed and her mother had never gone out to the hospital. She was waiting for the day that she’d get discharged, but it never occurred. Her mother’s beautiful face was marred with tubes, dextrose and other medical apparatus that she had no idea about. Devon noticed that her body was slowly deteriorating; she had a drastic weight loss, her eyes had dark spots and her hair was falling. She’d often asked her dad about it, but he’d just answered that it was part of her treatment, and that, she’d heal soon.

        She would often play with her mother, but the time they spent together had somehow lessened.

        “Always remember that mommy will always love Devon no matter what happens.” Her mom said smilingly, cradling her face.

        “And Devon will always love mommy, too,” she replied, “You will never leave me, right? Mommy?” Her emerald eyes twinkled expectantly.

        Her mother didn’t respond; she just gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead.

        ONE TIME, WHEN SHE WAS WALKING DOWN THE hospital’s hallway, she saw a doctor and her father talking. Her curiosity got ahead of her so she decided to listen. With careful steps, she eavesdropped into their conversation.  

         “I’m sorry Mr. Leonhardt…,” the doctor said apologetically, “She’s only got one month to live. We’ve tried all our best to treat her, but the tumor has spread. Doubling her medications won’t work. The effects of the chemotherapy are getting futile.”

        “One month?!” Emmanuel Leonhardt bellowed in disbelief. “I’ve spent all my money, and yet, you still can’t cure her?!”

        “Like I said, we did our—”

        He cut him off. “Best?! You call that best?! You doctors in the hospital are useless. We pay you to make your patients live longer and yet you can’t do your job right!” Anger laced her father’s tone.

        The doctor remained calm. “We can only hope for a miracle…”

        Her father fell on his knees, sobbing helplessly. The doctor bent down, cajoling him to stop crying. Why is daddy crying? She’d thought. She’d never seen her father cry. His father was an optimistic man, taking everything into positive light.