Page 2 of Butterfly 6, Phase 1

“She’s my baby. I’m her mom. I would know if my baby was this sick. She was fine! She was…” She shook her head, refuting this claim, this diagnosis that this doctor was trying to put on her child. “Wasn’t she?” she asked. She suddenly questioned everything. Her voice was small, weakened, as desperate eyes met Aria’s sympathetic gaze. “She was, right? Aria? You saw her! What did I miss?” Morgan asked her friend.

Aria nodded, face tense, forehead marred with lines that told a story of her own aching as she held Messari tightly in her arms. This was Aria’s niece, after all. Yara Rae was everybody’s baby doll, and this was a shared devastation. Tears filled Aria’s eyes. “You didn’t miss anything, Mo. She was fine. I was right there with you. You couldn’t have known this.” Messiah knew what was going through Morgan’s head. The signs were easy to misconstrue in the beginning. He had missed his own for a long time.

“She’s been to every doctor’s appointment. I didn’t skip one wellness visit. They’ve tested her for autism. She was delayed, so they ran every test in the book on my baby. She was fine!” Morgan’s voice elevated in protest. This was the stage of grief that included anger. She was well acquainted with this emotion. She had been grieving almost her entire life. Grief had made a soulmate of her since she was six years old. Each time she tried to bask in the comfort of happiness, something always snatched her back to reality, to an existence where she didn’t deserve it. “This can’t be happening. She’s only two years…” Her voice trailed off as Morgan gripped her stomach.

Aria stepped up behind Morgan, placing a supportive hand on her back, and Morgan turned to her friend, retreating into Aria’s shoulder. The safety of their friendship was so solid that nothing could break them, but oh, how this was trying. A confused Messari wrapped his arms around them both, forming a huddle of love. It was awe-inspiring for Messiah to witness. In that moment, he loved Aria simply for the genuine concern she had for Morgan and his children. They seldom saw eye to eye, but he recognized family when he saw it. Aria and Morgan were sisters. Aria was the friend that Morgan always chased as a child. She was the opposite of what Nish had been, and Messiah decided right then and there that Aria would always have his respect.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” Messari reassured. “Mmmwaa.” He gave Morgan audible kisses, and she sobbed there, in the safe zone that was Aria’s embrace. The reassurance of her friend, standing ten toes down behind her, and the pressure to make Messari feel safe, forced Morgan to rein in her sobs.

“Is her okay, Auntie Ari?” Messari asked.

“She’s okay, boyfriend,” Aria said, pulling away from Morgan and taking Messari to his father. Aria went back to Morgan and wrapped her deeper in a hug. “Mo, he’s watching you,” Aria whispered. Morgan nodded.

“I know, I know,” Morgan struggled, sobbing.

“We got to fight, Mo. You can’t break down. I know you want to, but you can’t. Yolly needs you. This is just the beginning. She needs you more than she needs anybody else in this world. I know it hurts. I know you’re scared, but nobody can tell me that God gave y’all these babies by mistake. She’s supposed to be here. She has brought so much happiness to our lives. She’s going to be okay; we just have to get through the hard part. You got to believe she can beat this shit. If her mama ain’t got hope, then nobody else will have hope. She’s our baby. You had her for us all, Mo. You made us a family. You, Messiah, these babies, me, Isa, and Meek. They are all of ours, and we all need you to have hope. She’s tough. What Isa be saying? Yolly ain’t got an ounce…”

“…of bitch in her blood,” Morgan mumbled, finding relief in a small moment of humor.

Messiah scoffed, because the mention of Isa, his mans, his friend, being a part of this village Mo had built made him tender on the inside. Isa had been there. Isa knew his kids. Isa loved his kids. He wished he had been present to witness the forming of that bond, because Isa didn’t love many, but somehow, he had a soft spot for Messiah’s offspring. “She will survive this,” Aria stated firmly.

Morgan held onto Aria so tightly as she nodded her head, trying her hardest to regain her composure. Messiah wanted to be that shoulder so badly. He wanted those tears to soak his shirt. He wanted the weight of her pain to rest on his shoulder. He wanted to feel her heart racing against his chest. He wanted to smell the scent of her hair as he held her, consoled her, because he knew, holding her would help fill the hole in his chest too. He had never felt more alone than in this moment. He was a spectator to an embrace that he desperately wanted to be a part of. There was no one there to hold him, and Messiah silently mourned.

The doctor in the room had witnessed this scene before. It was a delicate balance of respecting the family’s grief and advancing into effective treatment.

“Yara’s white blood cell count is abnormal, and her lymph nodes under her arm, in the pit, have some inflammation. I know this is daunting news, but we really need to put a plan together for your daughter’s care. We need to get you with oncology to confirm our findings and formalize the diagnosis. We’ll need you both to get bloodwork taken, as well as your son and other members of the family. Is there a history of cancer in either of your families?” the doctor asked. The question was like a smack in the face. Morgan released Aria, and her tear-filled eyes met Messiah’s. Guilt shrank him as a silent apology floated through the air as Morgan stared at him.

“I’m in remission.” The words were barely audible. It was a confession that he was ashamed of. Most cancer warriors were proud they had survived. Messiah was mortified. Admitting that felt like accepting the blame. “She’s sick because of me.”

“She’s sick because science hasn’t learned to outsmart the swiftness of this disease. You both are victims of an aggressive disease. I’m going to do everything I can to be just as aggressive and fight back,” the doctor replied.

“Can we see her?” Morgan asked.

“We’re admitting her. They’re bringing her down from CT. You and Dad can come back with her. Everyone else will have to wait in the waiting room,” the doctor informed.

“I’ll stay out here with Messari,” Aria offered. “He’s good with me. Just take care of Yolly.”

Messiah handed over his son, and Morgan rushed to Messari, kissing his lips.

“Mommy will be back. I love you, sweet boy. Be good for Auntie Ari,” Morgan said, voice trembling. She focused on Aria. “Thank you. Ethic will take him when he arrives. He’s on his way here,” Morgan said. “I already texted him 911.”

“He’s not a problem, Mo. He’s my nephew. I got him. Ethic will need to help you figure things out. It’s late. I’ll take him home with me. He can stay as long as he needs to. You guys just focus on Yolly.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. In the morning, you can take him to Ethic’s. Eazy will keep him distracted. Don’t tell Eazy and Bella yet. I don’t want them to worry,” Morgan said.

Aria nodded in understanding, and Morgan turned to follow Messiah and the doctor to Yara’s room.

Yara’s eyes were closed, and Morgan covered her mouth with one hand, becoming emotional. She was so overwhelmed. She shook her head in disbelief as Messiah walked over to the bed. He held onto the sides of the bed rails for dear life as he rocked slightly.

“What happens now?” Morgan asked.

“It’s late. Tonight, she rests. We have her on antibiotics to fight whatever infection is spiking her temperature. The fever is what caused the seizure. We’re monitoring her closely, evaluating her brain activity and her reaction to stimuli every few hours to make sure there was no permanent damage. We’re pushing fluids through her IV. Over the next 48 hours, we’ll run a series of tests and take all her imaging. We’ll get your family set up with oncology to develop a treatment plan and confirm our findings.”

Morgan nodded. She was so overwrought. Monday seemed so far away. Spending the weekend in the hospital before speaking to the oncologist would be torture.

“Any questions?” the doctor asked. Morgan had a thousand questions, but she couldn’t form words.

“How bad is it?” Messiah asked.