My Romance Life System
Chapter 80: Worse Than He Thought

Chapter 80: Worse Than He Thought

An hour. A full sixty minutes in that plastic palace of anxiety, where the only entertainment was a motivational poster. By the clock on the wall, it was already six in the evening.

(Honestly, you’d think a place this depressing would at least offer better snacks. A kid could starve waiting for news.)

Finally, a door swung open, and out walked a man who looked like he ran on pure, unadulterated cynicism. Trailing behind him was the good nurse, the one who didn’t look at you like you were an inconvenience.

The doctor’s eyes, tired and buried in his chart, found Kofi.

"Are you the family for Thea?"

Kofi shook his head, his hands clenching on the edge of the plastic chair.

"No. I just found her. At her house."

The doctor gave him a long, appraising look, then let out a sigh that sounded like it had been sitting in his lungs since medical school.

"Well, she’s going to live."

A breath Kofi didn’t even know he was holding rushed out of him.

"But," the doctor continued, his tone all business, "that’s about the only good news I have for you. Her condition is... extensive."

He flipped a page on his clipboard, and the litany began.

"First, she’s severely malnourished. We’re talking chronic, long-term lack of basic nutrition. Her body has been running on fumes."

"Second, dehydration. This is the kind that starts to shut down organs."

"Third, she has a litany of vitamin deficiencies. Anemia from a lack of iron is the most pressing. The bruising on her skin is from a lack of Vitamin C. She has the early signs of scurvy."

’Scurvy? Is that even a real thing anymore? What century is this?’

"Fourth, the pills. She took a non-lethal dose, but it was enough to cause some significant stomach lining damage. We had to pump her stomach. It wasn’t pleasant."

"Fifth, her liver is showing signs of stress. Not just from the pills, but from prolonged poor diet."

"Sixth, a low-grade fever from an untreated infection in one of the cuts on her arm. Probably from a nasty fall."

"Seventh, her blood pressure is dangerously low."

"Eighth, exhaustion. Not just tired, but a cellular-level exhaustion that comes from the body trying to survive on nothing."

"Ninth, we found several older, healing bruises. Consistent with falling or being pushed."

"Tenth, there’s evidence of..." he paused, looking for the right clinical term. "Long-term psychological distress manifesting in physical neglect. She hasn’t been taking care of herself because she can’t. Or because no one taught her how."

The doctor finally stopped, looking down at his clipboard.

Kofi just sat there. The words hit him one by one, a barrage of cold facts that painted a picture so much worse than he could have imagined. This wasn’t a list of medical problems. It was a formal indictment. A receipt for every single adult who had failed this girl, every single day, for years.

The good nurse finally stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on the doctor’s arm.

"What he’s trying to say," she said, her eyes soft as she looked at Kofi, "is that she’s very sick, but she’s a fighter. And she’s lucky someone found her when they did."

She looked at him, really looked at him, and her expression was one of quiet, profound gratitude.

"You did a good thing, son. A really good thing."

The doctor made to leave, his part in this grim little play concluded. He had delivered his lines, listed the horrors, and now he was ready for his exit. The nurse, however, stayed. Her gaze, soft and heavy with a sympathy that felt all too real, rested on Kofi.

"Would you like to see her for a minute? She’s stable now."

And there it was. The question. The one that took the neat, clinical list of horrors and made it real.

Kofi’s mind went completely, terrifyingly blank. The silence in the waiting room stretched, thick and heavy. He didn’t answer with his voice. His body answered for him.

It started in his hands. A tremor. A slight, almost unnoticeable vibration that quickly escalated into a violent, uncontrollable shake. It climbed up his arms, into his shoulders, until his whole frame was shuddering.

’See her? Me? After that? What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?’

His breathing hitched, the air getting stuck in his throat.

’I’m not her family. I’m not her friend. I’m just the guy who found her. The guy who saw the empty pill packet. The guy who saw her dying on the floor.’

The images flooded his brain, unfiltered and raw. The smell of the house. The sticky floor. The sound of her ragged, painful breaths. It was too much. The walls of the waiting room started to close in, the air turning thin and sharp.

He was drowning, right here, in this stupid plastic chair.

The nurse saw it all. She moved without a sound, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder, a firm, steady weight in the middle of his personal earthquake.

"Hey. Hey, look at me."

He couldn’t. His eyes were locked on his own shaking hands.

"Breathe, just breathe with me. In for four."

She waited.

"Out for four."

He tried to follow, but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate. A choked, gasping sound came out instead.

"It’s okay," she said, her voice never wavering. "It’s okay. You don’t have to go in. You don’t have to do anything."

Her thumb started rubbing small, soothing circles on his shoulder.

"What you did... finding her, getting her here... that was the hard part. That was the brave part. You did enough. You did more than enough."

Her words were a lifeline. A simple, undeniable truth that he grabbed onto with all his strength. He wasn’t a hero who had to see the quest through to the end. He was just a kid who had stumbled into a nightmare and done the right thing.

He finally managed to look up at her, his vision blurry with tears he didn’t even realize were there. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t form a single word. He just nodded, a small, jerky motion.

"You’ve been through a trauma, too," she said, her eyes full of a kindness that was almost painful. "It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It’s okay to fall apart a little. You’re allowed."

He finally took a real breath. It was shaky and ragged, but it was a start. The violent tremors started to subside, leaving him feeling hollowed out and weak, but grounded.

’She’s right.’

The thought was a quiet revelation.

’I’m just a kid.’