Chapter 4
Mom stopped the car so suddenly that another driver honked behind us.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Dr. Patel repeated herself.
“The access log shows someone opened several ophthalmology reports, including the most recent imaging.”
Mom looked back at me.
I couldn’t see her expression.
But I heard fear.
“Why would anyone care if Lily’s condition is reversible?”
“That’s something we need to discuss in person.”
“Tell me now.”
“I’d rather not do this over the phone.”
“Doctor, my daughter’s photograph was found in a bakery less than an hour ago after apparently being taken outside her school.”
Silence.
Then Dr. Patel said, “Come directly to the hospital.”
Mom turned the car around.
I clutched my cane.
“Can I see again?”
Mom inhaled.
“Sweetheart—”
“Can I?”
“The doctors have always said the damage was permanent.”
“That isn’t what she said.”
“She said someone was checking.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
For the first time that day, I wished I could see Mom’s face.
There were things voices could hide.
Faces probably couldn’t.
Mom called Daniel.
She stared at the phone before pressing his number.
He answered before the second ring.
“Sarah?”
“We’re going back to Mass General.”
“What happened?”
She explained.
Daniel became silent.
Then he asked, “Which entrance?”
“You are not coming.”
“I’m already five minutes away.”
“Daniel.”
“My mother may be involved.”
“That doesn’t give you rights over Lily.”
“No. Being her father might eventually give me rights. But right now I’m asking as the person whose family may have created this nightmare.”
Mom didn’t answer.
Daniel continued.
“Please.”
The word was quieter this time.
Mom finally said, “Main entrance.”
He was waiting when we arrived.
I recognized his footsteps now.
Long.
Quick.
Then slower as he approached me.
“Hi, Lily.”
“Hi.”
Mom said, “Don’t overwhelm her.”
“I won’t.”
We went upstairs.
Dr. Patel met us in a private consultation room.
She had been my eye doctor for two years.
I liked her because she always spoke to me instead of only talking to Mom.
“Hello, Lily.”
“Hi.”
“You’ve had a strange afternoon.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Daniel gave a small laugh.
Dr. Patel asked, “And you are?”
“Daniel Mercer.”
She stopped.
“Mercer?”
“Yes.”
Mom noticed.
“You know the name?”
Dr. Patel hesitated.
Then she closed the door.
“That’s part of why I asked you to come.”
Daniel sat beside me.
Not too close.
Mom sat on my other side.
Dr. Patel opened a folder.
“Three months ago, our ophthalmology research unit received an anonymous donation.”
Daniel’s voice became cautious.
“How much?”
“Five million dollars.”
Mom whispered, “Oh my God.”
Daniel asked, “From whom?”
“The donation was made through a private foundation.”
“Name?”
“The V.M. Charitable Trust.”
Daniel swore quietly.
Mom asked, “Victoria Mercer?”
“I can’t confirm the donor’s personal identity from hospital records.”
“You don’t have to,” Daniel said. “Those are my mother’s initials.”
Dr. Patel continued.
“The donation was designated for pediatric optic nerve regeneration research.”
My heart began beating faster.
I knew enough words to understand the important ones.
“Making blind kids see?”
Dr. Patel softened.
“That is what researchers hope to achieve someday.”
“Someday?”
“Yes.”
Daniel asked, “Was Lily selected for something?”
“Not officially.”
“What does officially mean?”
Dr. Patel turned pages.
“Someone requested that Lily’s case be reviewed by Dr. Elias Warren.”
Mom gasped.
I knew that name.
She had mentioned him before.
“He’s the surgeon you said we couldn’t get an appointment with,” I said.
“Yes,” Mom whispered.
Daniel asked, “Who is Warren?”
“One of the leading specialists in experimental optic nerve repair,” Dr. Patel said. “He’s based partly in Switzerland now.”
Mom sounded angry.
“Two years ago his office told us Lily wasn’t a candidate.”
“That was based on the treatment available then.”
“And now?”
Dr. Patel paused.
“There is an experimental protocol in development.”
My hands started shaking.
“Could it work?”
“Lily, nobody knows yet.”
“But maybe?”
Dr. Patel was careful.
“Maybe.”
One word.
It changed everything.
For years, adults had told me not to wait for a miracle.
Learn Braille.
Learn mobility.
Learn technology.
Learn to live.
And I had.
I was good at living blind.
But suddenly somebody had opened a door I had been told was a wall.
Mom asked, “Why didn’t anyone contact me?”
“Because the protocol is not approved for general enrollment.”
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“Then why was my daughter’s file accessed?”
“That’s the concern.”
Dr. Patel lowered her voice.
“The account used belonged to a research coordinator who left the hospital eighteen months ago.”
“Was it hacked?”
“We’re investigating.”
Daniel asked, “Did the person download anything?”
“Yes.”
Mom grabbed my hand.
“What?”
“Imaging files.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“And genetic records?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel stood.
“I do.”
Mom turned.
“What?”
“My mother.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know how she operates.”
“You said thirty minutes ago you didn’t know who she was anymore.”
“I’m learning fast.”
He pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling her.”
Mom stood too.
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“If she has been watching us, calling her tells her what we know.”
“She already knows.”
“You don’t know that.”
“My mother always knows.”
Dr. Patel stepped between their voices.
“There’s more.”
Everyone stopped.
She turned toward me.
“Lily, I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Has anyone you don’t know approached you recently?”
I thought.
“At school?”
“Anywhere.”
“No.”
“Any new adults?”
I shook my head.
Then remembered.
“There was a lady at the park.”
Mom stiffened.
“What lady?”
“Last Tuesday.”
“You never told me.”
“She just asked about my cane.”
“What did she look like?”
I almost laughed.
Mom caught herself.
“Sorry.”
“She had a perfume that smelled like roses.”
Daniel went completely silent.
I heard his chair move.
“What?”
He asked, “What did she say, Lily?”
“She asked if I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Being blind.”
Mom whispered, “Oh God.”
“I told her no.”
Daniel’s breathing became uneven.
“What else?”
“She asked if I wanted to see my mother’s face.”
Mom started crying.
“What did you say?”
“I said I already know your face.”
That had always been true.
I knew Mom’s face with my hands.
I knew the little line beside her mouth.
The curve of her nose.
The softness below her eyes when she was tired.
I didn’t need sight to know her.
Daniel asked, “Did she tell you her name?”
“No.”
“Did she touch you?”
“She touched my hair.”
Mom stood so quickly the table moved.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t a big deal.”
“It is a big deal!”
Her voice scared me.
I shrank back.
She immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Daniel asked me gently, “Did the woman say anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She said I had Mercer eyes.”
Daniel stopped breathing.
Mom whispered, “Lily.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“I didn’t know what Mercer meant.”
Daniel walked away from the table.
Mom asked, “Rose perfume?”
“Yes.”
Daniel’s voice became empty.
“My mother has worn the same rose perfume my entire life.”
The room fell silent.
Mom said, “She approached my daughter.”
Daniel corrected her.
“Our daughter.”
It was the wrong time.
Mom exploded.
“You do not get to walk into our lives for two hours and start claiming words!”
Daniel fired back.
“I’m not claiming property, Sarah! I’m claiming responsibility!”
“You had none!”
“Because it was stolen from me!”
“So was my choice!”
“I know!”
“No, you don’t! Your mother terrified a pregnant twenty-four-year-old woman and apparently spent eight years watching her child!”
“Our child!”
“Stop saying that!”
“I won’t!”
I shouted.
“Stop!”
Both of them froze.
Tears burned my eyes.
“I hate this.”
Mom knelt instantly.
“Lily—”
“I hate both of you yelling.”
“You’re right.”
“I hate that everyone keeps talking like I’m not here.”
Daniel crouched on my other side.
“You’re right.”
“And I hate your mom.”
Daniel actually laughed through his tears.
“That makes three of us today.”
Mom made a sound that almost became a laugh.
I wiped my face.
“Why would she watch me if she didn’t want me?”
Nobody answered.
That question stayed in the room.
Finally Daniel said, “Because my mother doesn’t think like most people.”
“What does she think like?”
He hesitated.
“She believes if something belongs to the Mercer family, she gets to control it.”
Mom said sharply, “Lily does not belong to anyone.”
“I know.”
Dr. Patel’s phone buzzed.
She looked at it.
Then went pale.
“What?”
She didn’t answer.
“Doctor?” Mom asked.
Dr. Patel stood.
“I just received a message from hospital security.”
Daniel’s voice tightened.
“What happened?”
“The same unauthorized account was used again.”
“Just now?”
“Yes.”
“To access what?”
Dr. Patel looked at me.
“My appointment schedule.”
Mom’s voice dropped.
“Your schedule?”
“For this room.”
Daniel walked to the door.
“Lock it.”
Dr. Patel did.
I heard the click.
Thirty seconds later, someone tried the handle from outside.
Once.
Twice.
Then a woman’s voice came through the door.
Calm.
Elegant.
Older.
“Daniel.”
He stopped breathing.
My mother whispered, “No.”
The woman continued.
“I know you’re in there.”
Daniel said nothing.
Then she spoke my name.
“Lily, sweetheart.”
I felt Mom wrap both arms around me.
Daniel moved in front of the door.
The woman on the other side said, “You deserve to know why your mother lied to you.”
Mom shouted, “Get away from the door!”
A soft laugh came from the hallway.
Then Victoria Mercer said, “Sarah, after eight years, you should know better than anyone.”
May you like
A pause.
“I never come without proof.”
