Daughter in ICU Worth Six Points, I Scored Marriage Zero

Oliver Farley had a scoring system for family matters.

Anything below a seven, and he wouldn't handle it himself. Only urgency rated seven or higher earned his personal attention.

But that standard only ever applied to me and our daughter.

When his secretary, Hilary Hughes, had a stomachache, he walked away from a multi-million-dollar contract to drive her to the hospital himself.

When our daughter's fever hit a hundred and six, he gave it a four.

"Kids run fevers all the time. Not worth a special trip."

When she was moved into the ICU, he still only gave it a six.

"One point short. Doesn't meet my threshold."

I asked, "How many points before you'll come?"

On the other end of the line, his voice was flat.

"Seven is the life-or-death line. She isn't there yet."

Later, the doctors issued a critical condition notice.

I took a photo and sent it to him. "How many points is this worth?"

Two hours passed before he replied.

"Seven. I'll come over after tomorrow's board meeting."

But half an hour later, a new post from Hilary showed up in my feed.

In the photo, Oliver was crouched in a downpour, searching for her lost cat.

The caption read: "I only mentioned I was scared, and he rushed over in the middle of the night to be with me. Mr. Farley says my problems are always a ten."

I stared at that line for a long time, and then I laughed.

So the seven-point life-or-death line had never been about the severity of the situation.

It was only ever the measure of whether he loved the person or not.

I put my phone away, signed my name on our daughter's critical condition notice, and calmly sent my lawyer a message:

"Get the divorce papers ready."

...

The reply came back fast.

"I'll have the agreement drafted tonight. Custody, the current residence, and ongoing medical costs, do you want all of that handled at the same time?"

I looked at the red light over the ICU door and typed one line.

"Custody goes to me. Everything else is negotiable."

The doctor came out and handed me a medication consent form.

"Paula Farley has gone into a febrile seizure, and the lung infection is still worsening. We're adjusting the treatment plan. We need your signature."

I had just taken the pen when I heard footsteps behind me.

Oliver had arrived.

His shirt was soaked through, mud on his cuffs, several fresh scratches across the back of his hand.

A nurse trailed behind him with iodine and gauze, urging him to let her clean the wounds first.

He glanced at the ICU door, his voice even.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Febrile seizure. The infection's getting worse."

Oliver lifted his wrist and checked the time.

"If she's still being treated, then it isn't the worst-case scenario yet. Sending me seven messages in a row only clouds my judgment."

The doctor frowned. "Mr. Farley, a critical condition notice isn't the family throwing a tantrum. She was already in respiratory failure when she was brought in. A little later, and I couldn't have predicted the outcome."

"I respect the professional assessment."

Oliver took the consent form and ran his eyes over the risk clauses.

"But she went from a hundred-and-six fever to critical in a matter of hours. Whether that kind of deterioration is connected to a treatment error also needs to be investigated."

I looked at the wounds on the back of his hand.

"Did you find the cat?"

His expression paused for a beat.

"I did."

"So Hilary mentions in passing that she's scared, and that's worth you standing in the rain for half an hour. Paula ends up in the ICU, and that's only worth you questioning the doctor?"

Oliver set the form back down in front of me.

"You can't lump the two together. Hilary has a panic disorder. When it flares up, she's prone to hurting herself. Paula is in a hospital, with doctors responsible for her."

"She's only six."

"Precisely because she's our daughter, she can't be allowed to grow up thinking she can cry and throw fits over everything."

An alarm suddenly went off inside the ICU.

A nurse ran in, and in the instant the door swung open, I saw Paula's thin little arm strapped to the side of the bed, her whole face buried under an oxygen mask.

My legs gave out, and I caught the wall to stay upright.

Oliver reached out and steadied my arm.

"Don't scare yourself."

I shook him off.

"You should go."

"You kept pushing me to come, and now you want me to leave?"

"The lawyer will contact you."

His eyes went dark.

"What lawyer?"

Before I could answer, a nurse leaned out of the ICU.

"She's awake. She's not very lucid, and she keeps calling for her father."

Oliver pushed through the door.

Paula heard the footsteps and forced her eyes open.

"Daddy."

He bent down and touched her forehead.

"I'm here. Where does it hurt?"

The fever had left her voice hoarse.

"Mommy said you'd only come if it was a seven."

Oliver's hand went still.

"Why is Mommy telling you things like that?"

"So am I a seven now?"

He didn't answer.

Paula waited a few seconds, then carefully stretched out her hand, reaching for his cuff.

Just as her fingertips were about to touch it, Oliver's phone rang.

On the other end, Hilary was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

"Oliver, Buttons keeps throwing up ever since we got her back. The vet says she might have swallowed something. I can't do the exam alone."

Oliver straightened up.

"Send me the address. I'm on my way."

Paula's hand dropped back onto the sheet.

I stepped in front of the bed.

"She just woke up."

"The vet's not far from here. I'll come back once I've dealt with it."

"Oliver. She's calling for you."

He tucked the blanket up around Paula, his tone as calm as ever.

"She's already seen me."

At the door, he turned back to look at me.

"Whatever you want to say, save it until Paula's fever breaks. Don't take your resentment toward me out in front of the child."

After the door closed, Paula stared at the empty spot where he'd stood and asked me in a small voice:

"Mommy, does the kitten hurt more than I do?"

I didn't answer Paula's question.

The doctor wouldn't let her keep talking and quickly fitted her with a noninvasive ventilator.

By two in the morning, her condition had stabilized for the time being.

Oliver didn't come back.

He only had his driver bring over a cake, a reward, he said, for when Paula woke up.

When the nurse opened the box, everyone fell silent.

There was a line of pink writing across the buttercream.

"Forever happy, Hilary."

The driver explained awkwardly, "They must have grabbed the wrong one. It was Secretary Hughes's birthday yesterday, so Mr. Farley ordered two cakes. This one wasn't finished."

I closed the lid.

"Take it away."

Paula saw it through the glass and tapped lightly on the bed rail.

"Mom, is that from Dad?"

"No. It came by mistake."

The light that had just flickered in her eyes went dim again.

"It's okay if I don't get any."

Before dawn, the lawyer reached Oliver and told him I wanted a divorce.

That morning, Oliver's older sister, Aileen Farley, showed up with a few relatives.

She didn't ask about Paula's condition first. She called me out into the hallway instead.

"Oliver says you want a divorce?"

"Yes."

Aileen's face darkened.

"Just because he didn't get to the hospital fast enough? A man has his own affairs out in the world. You can't use a sick child to force him to revolve around you twenty-four hours a day."

"Is Hilary's cat his own affair?"

"That girl has no father, no mother, and she's been with Oliver five years. You're Mrs. Farley. Do you really not have even that much room in you for another person?"

The relatives stood off to the side, murmuring at me to let it go.

"The child is still sick. Don't make trouble."

"Oliver already came by. That shows you two are in his heart."

"The scoring is just so family matters have some order to them. There's no malice in it."

I looked at Aileen.

"This system, all of you know about it?"

She didn't think anything of it.

"Of course we do. You and Paula are always going to him over every little thing. That's why he came up with the method."

"Last month, at Paula's dance recital, you called him more than a dozen times. Didn't that keep him from taking Hilary to her therapist?"

A crash came from inside the room, something hitting the floor.

I pushed the door open and saw Paula scrambling to pick up a drawing from her bedside.

It was the family portrait she'd drawn last month, before her competition.

In it, Oliver sat in the front row with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

But that day, right up until the performance ended, his seat had stayed empty.

Paula tucked the drawing under her blanket and said softly, "Auntie, I won't call Dad anymore."

Aileen's expression turned a little uneasy.

"Auntie isn't blaming you, I'm teaching you to be sensible. Your dad is very busy. You can't go to him for everything."

I pressed the call button.

"Please see them out."

Aileen said, displeased, "Bianca, we came to see the child."

"She needs rest."

"I'm her aunt. Her own flesh and blood."

"Then you should have asked her first whether she's in pain, not taught her how to avoid bothering her father."

Footsteps came from the doorway again.

Oliver walked in holding the cat that had gone missing, Hilary behind him, her eyes faintly red.

"Aileen, don't blame Bianca. It's all my fault."

She went to the bedside and held out a brand-new tablet to Paula.

"This is Auntie's apology. Cookie got sick last night, that's the only reason your dad had to go."

Paula didn't take it.

Hilary went on, gently, "Cookie was hospitalized too, but he was so brave. He didn't make a single sound. Paula should be brave too, okay?"

I pushed the tablet back.

"She doesn't need to compete with a cat."

Oliver handed the cat to the driver, his tone cooling.

"Hilary was only trying to comfort her. There's no need to put a barb in every word."

Paula suddenly pulled one side of the ventilator mask away from her face.

"Dad, I didn't cry."

She forced herself to sit up straight, her pale little face full of the need to please.

"Not even during the injections. The nurse said I was very brave."

Oliver made a small sound of acknowledgment.

"That's how it should be."

Paula looked up at him, waiting.

"Then can I get one more point?"

The room went completely still.

Oliver's brow creased slightly.

"Who taught you to say that?"

Paula gripped the sheet and answered in a small voice,

"Auntie said if I'm just a little more sensible, Dad will give me seven points."

Oliver made every last relative leave the room.

After the door closed, he looked at me.

"The scoring is only there to help me tell what matters. She should never have been told about it."

"I didn't tell her."

"Who else would keep hammering the number seven at her?"

I took out my phone and pulled up the household affairs system.

Oliver had insisted we install it a year ago.

Every single time Paula or I needed to reach him, we had to first log the matter, the time, and how urgent it was, and then he would rescore it himself.

The screen laid it all out.

Paula's first recital: two points.

Paula's fever on her birthday: three points.

Paula trapped in a mall bathroom: four points.

My acute appendicitis: five points.

Last night's critical-condition notice: seven points.

And in Hilary's records, not one item ever came in below nine.

I held the phone out to him.

"She didn't hear it from me. Last week you put the system up on the living room screen, and right in front of her you changed her request to have you at parents' night from five points down to one."

Oliver's jaw tightened.

"I didn't know she was standing behind me."

"So as long as she can't hear it, you're allowed to do it?"

Hilary caught hold of his sleeve.

"Oliver, stop fighting for now. Paula just stabilized. She can't handle any stress."

I looked at her.

"Then why did you come?"

Her face went a little pale.

"I was just worried about Paula."

"Worried enough to bring the cat?"

Hilary stepped back at once, tears brimming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I thought she liked Fluffy, I wanted to make her happy. Since everything I do is wrong, I'll just go."

Oliver locked his hand around her wrist.

"No one told you to go."

He turned to me, his voice colder.

"Hilary had a bad scare last night and still came to see the child. You won't let this end until you've made her cry?"

The monitor let out a sharp string of beeps.

A nurse hurried in and checked the readings.

"The child's heart rate is climbing. Please, no arguing in here."

I shut my mouth right away.

Oliver, though, called the doctor out into the hall.

"When can she be transferred?"

"I don't advise moving her now," the doctor said. "The child is showing signs of sepsis. Any transport could raise the risk."

"The Farley family's private physician thinks you're overmedicating her. I've already arranged another hospital."

"Mr. Farley, a patient isn't an object. You can't move her around on an appointment."

I pushed through the door.

"I don't agree to the transfer."

Oliver looked at me.

"They can't even control the basic risks here."

"At least the doctors here come running when she's critical."

"Bianca."

He caught my wrist gently, the pressure held back, but his tone left no room for discussion.

"Don't make decisions for her out of emotion."

"Her attending physician says she can't be moved."

"Three o'clock this afternoon. An ambulance will come."

"I won't sign."

"I'm her father. I have just as much say."

At two fifty that afternoon, the people Oliver had arranged arrived.

Paula was still on oxygen as they lifted her onto the transport bed.

She was terrified, but she didn't dare cry. She only reached out and gripped the hem of my shirt.

"Mommy, I won't be any trouble to Daddy."

"Don't be scared. Mommy's here."

Oliver stood by the elevator and took the risk-consent form the nurse handed him.

"It's only a twenty-minute drive. There's no need to blow it out of proportion."

The elevator had barely dropped one floor when Paula went into violent convulsions.

The monitor alarmed again and again.

The doctor slammed the stop button.

"Blood oxygen's dropping. Back to the ICU, now!"

The transport team ran the bed back the way it came.

Oliver's phone rang at the same moment.

Hilary was standing downstairs, her voice frantic.

"Oliver, someone from the press got a photo of me coming to the hospital with you. They're asking if I'm Paula's mother. What am I supposed to say?"

Oliver answered as he kept pace with the bed.

"Don't explain anything. I'll handle it."

A few minutes later, a message from him showed up in the family group chat.

"Hilary is someone I'm responsible for looking after. Please don't give her a hard time. Bianca has been emotionally unstable lately. Regarding the child's condition, treat only the information I release as accurate."

I finished reading and looked up at him.

"This emotional instability you're talking about, does it mean I won't gamble our daughter's life to go along with your plans?"

Oliver didn't answer.

A nurse rushed out of the ICU.

"The child needs an emergency platelet transfusion. She has a rare blood type. Immediate family, get typed right now."

Oliver and I both put out our arms at the same time.

Ten minutes later, the results came back.

The nurse read the report and walked briskly straight to him.

"Mr. Farley, you're the only match."

Oliver was taken away for the pre-donation screening.

The doctor kept confirming his medication history and his general condition.

"Her platelets keep dropping, and there are now signs of bleeding in her lungs. A matched blood source won't arrive for at least two hours. A direct relative's donation is the fastest option we have."

Oliver rolled up his sleeve.

"How long will it take?"

"Collection and processing, about ninety minutes. You can't leave partway through."

He glanced at his watch.

"Let's start."

I stood in the doorway and, for the first time, didn't argue with him.

While the nurse got the needle into his arm, Paula was wheeled into the trauma room next door.

Her mind was already going hazy, but she was still murmuring numbers.

"Six points."

"Still one short."

I held her cold little hand.

"You don't need to keep score anymore, Paula."

She forced her eyes open.

"Seven, and Daddy won't leave."

Something closed off my throat.

"He's not leaving this time."

The words had barely left me when Oliver's phone, lying on the table, rang.

The first time, no one answered.

The second time, Hilary sent a voice message, only a dozen seconds long.

"Oliver, the elevator just stopped, and there's no light in here. I can't breathe. I think it's happening again."

Oliver opened his eyes.

The nurse pressed down on his arm.

"Mr. Farley, we've only just started the collection. Please don't move."

"She has claustrophobia."

The doctor said, "We can notify building management and emergency services. Your daughter is waiting on those platelets."

Hilary's third message came right after.

"You promised. Whenever I'm scared, no matter where you are, you'd come. Oliver, I really can't hold on."

Oliver pulled out the collection needle.

Blood welled up fast from the puncture.

The nurse's face changed.

"Mr. Farley, if you leave now, everything we've prepped is wasted."

I blocked the doorway.

"Building management is already helping her."

"When she has an attack, she hurts herself."

"Paula will die too."

"The backup blood is on its way."

"That's still two hours out."

Oliver pulled out a tissue and pressed it to his arm.

"The doctors will find a way to keep her stable."

I gripped his cuff.

It was the first time since she'd gone critical that I'd reached for him on my own.

"Oliver, just look at her once."

Through the glass, Paula's small body was hemmed in by machines.

The nurse kept changing out the blood-soaked gauze.

"She's waiting for your blood."

Oliver's eyes held for a few seconds.

"There's no one with Hilary."

"There's no father with Paula either."

"You're right here."

He pushed my hand off.

"Bianca, don't force me to prove something at a time like this. Once the blood arrives, I'll come back."

"What do you score her?"

Oliver didn't answer.

"She's just stuck in an elevator, and building management is already on the way. Paula's lungs are bleeding and she can't wait for the backup blood. What do you score each of them?"

His patience finally ran out.

"Hilary could suffocate at any moment, so of course it's a ten. Paula has doctors working on her. It's a different situation."

"So it's still a six."

"The score adjusts based on available resources."

He turned sideways and stepped past me.

His soles crossed the blood that had dripped a moment ago.

Inside the trauma room, Paula suddenly opened her eyes.

She saw Oliver's back as he left and lifted a hand covered in tape.

"Daddy."

Oliver's steps paused.

From the phone came Hilary's muffled crying.

He didn't look back.

Just before the elevator doors closed, Paula asked, very softly,

"Am I enough for seven now?"

The next second, the line on the monitor snapped flat.

The doctor rushed in, shouting,

"Cardiac arrest, prep the defibrillator!"