Daniel called him the next day. I didn’t know at the time. He kept it from me for months because he didn’t want to add another layer of hurt. Daniel called my father directly. June 22nd, 4:32 p.m. The call lasted six minutes. According to Daniel, my father’s tone was colder than it had been with me.
“Son, we understand you’re afraid,” he said. “But we can’t enable financial irresponsibility. You need to explore other options.”
Then he added something that still makes my stomach turn.
“What about Ava’s biological father?”
Daniel had gone silent.
“Oh,” my father continued almost casually. “You’re not him, are you?”
Daniel didn’t tell me about that conversation until three months after Ava died. We were lying awake in bed, unable to sleep, and he said it like it had been sitting on his chest the whole time.
I didn’t cry. I think I was past crying by then. But I remember thinking: my father said that to my husband while our daughter was dying.
On June 28th, Daniel and I flew to Naples, Florida. We charged the tickets to a credit card we couldn’t afford to use. We had to try one more time, face to face.
My parents’ condo was on a quiet street in Naples. I remember the address because I looked it up later. Estimated value in the low 400s. They had downsized after retiring, sold the house in Westfield, and moved south for the sunshine and tax breaks.
My mom opened the door surprised. “Melissa, Daniel—you didn’t tell us you were coming.”
“Uh, it was last minute,” I said.
She hugged me. She still smelled like lavender lotion, the same one she’d worn my entire childhood. For a split second, I was eight years old again, convinced my mother could fix anything.
We sat in their living room: new sectional, a Pelaton bike tucked into the guest room, a built-in wine fridge glowing in the kitchen. I explained everything again—the deadline, the deposit, the clock ticking. My mom cried. Real tears. She held my hand.
“If we had it, we’d give it to you,” she said. “You know that. But we’re older now. What if we get sick? What if we need long-term care?”
“What if Ava dies?” I whispered.
The flat screen TV. The wine fridge. No money for Ava.
We flew home the next morning.
Two weeks later, on July 8th, I convinced them to visit Ava at CHOP. I thought seeing her would change something. Ava was propped up in bed, IV lines taped to her small arm, watching cartoons. When she saw my parents, she stretched out her arms. My mom leaned over carefully, mindful of the IV lines.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay,” Ava said brightly. “The doctors say I’m getting a new heart,” like it was an upgrade.
My mom smiled through tears. “That’s right, baby. You’re so strong.”
My father sat at the edge of her bed. “You’re a fighter, Ava Bear.”
They stayed for two and a half hours. They read her a book, watched her favorite show, laughed at her jokes—and then in the hospital parking lot, I asked again.
“Dad, please.”
He shook his head. “Melissa, we’ve already discussed this.”
They got into their rental car and drove away.
The deadline was seven days away. July 15th, 2021. I called Dr. Whitmore.
“We didn’t make it,” I said. My voice sounded hollow, detached. “We don’t have the money.”
There was a pause on the other end. “I’m so sorry, Melissa,” she said gently.
“What happens now?”
“We’ll continue supportive care. We’ll manage her symptoms. Keep her comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” Not alive. “Comfortable? She’s seven years old,” I said.
“I know,” Dr. Whitmore replied softly. “I’m so sorry.”
That night, Ava asked me when she would get her new heart. I lied.
“Soon,” I told her.
August was brutal. On August 22nd, her ejection fraction dropped to 18%. She lost nine pounds in three weeks. She was tired all the time. She would start playing with her dolls and have to stop to catch her breath.
One afternoon, she lay on the couch, her head in my lap. “Mommy,” she said quietly. “I’m tired all the time. Is that normal?”
I forced a smile and stroked her hair. “Your heart is working really hard, baby. You’re so strong.”
She looked up at me with those green eyes. “When do I get my new heart?”
