The Gingerbread Series - Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

#19 "I can't imagine life without her..."

Thank you thank you THANK YOU for your patience! Thank you for sticking with me, and for your notes of encouragement - both in support of my writing and my exams! I'm happy to say that I passed *squee* and that I now have some time to try and get on with the story. Sorry this has been so long coming; I tried to write the moment the exams were over but I really struggled, definitely a bit rusty! But I've been desperate to continue it as I've had a slew of really sweet comments; I really appreciate them, thank you for being so wonderful! I hope to keep things moving at a reasonable pace from now on, and I really hope you enjoy this chapter...

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Your mother sits staring vacantly at the sandwich on her lap. You clutch a handful of leaflets, also reeling slightly from the conversation that has just taken place. The staff have excused themselves to ‘give you a moment’ and the relatives room feels stark and empty without them. You look down at the leaflets.

Do Not Resuscitate. Withdrawal of active treatment. Coping with loss. Organ donation.

“You should eat, Mum,” you tell her, eager to focus on any little detail that doesn’t involve thinking about your grandmother’s fate.

“I can’t imagine life without her…”

You want to express exactly the same sentiment but ‘me neither’ doesn’t sound like enough. You want to the throw the leaflets away, run back to your grandmother, and tell her just to please please wake up.

“She’s always been there for me. Always.”

You swallow guiltily, hearing – or perhaps imagining – accusation in her voice. Your mother tended to keep herself to herself, never really regaining her old spark following the divorce. Your grandparents had been there throughout and because of that she’d never truly been a ‘single parent’. When you’d left for university, your grandmother had again provided her with support to manage another sudden hole in her life.

The situation with Joshua had caused many people to distance themselves from your family. Friends drifted away, leaving them isolated. A wave of shame envelopes you. You had run away and left them to cope alone. But what had the alternative been?

 “How are you both doing?” a sympathetic Irish voice asks. It’s the nurse from earlier – her badge says ‘Sarah’ now that you can see it in the well-lit room.

She appraises you both, looking worried. “What’ve they said now?”

You look up to meet her eyes. “Stuff… about turning the machines off, and organ donation… and…”

Sarah tuts and shakes her head. “They shouldn’t be worrying you with that at the moment. Jayne is doing well, she truly is. I know they’re supposed to prepare you in case things don’t work out, but really now…”

She seems peeved and abruptly leaves the room. She returns a moment later with Dr Lloyd.

“I’m so sorry if this has given you the wrong idea,” she starts anxiously. “We just wanted you to be aware of all eventualities. It’s important to document relatives’ wishes on these matters. Sarah is right, Jayne is holding out well. I’m sorry if we came across as suggesting otherwise.”

Sat across from you, tears roll down your mother’s cheeks. She looks exhausted.

“Mum,” you reach for her hand and she lets you take it. “You need to get some rest.”

Your mother shakes her head and her mouth sets into a familiar grimace.

“Do you think my grandmother will be OK until tomorrow morning?” you address the doctor.