The call came before I’d even finished my coffee. Kev’s voice was tight, barely holding together. Alfie was struggling to breathe, something wasn’t right. I told him to keep calm, that I was on my way, but my hands were shaking as I grabbed my keys.
By the time the ambulance was cancelled and we were driving him ourselves, the panic had settled into a cold knot in my stomach. The hospital was a blur of corridors and waiting room chairs. The doctor’s words were careful, measured, but I could hear the weight behind them. They needed to run tests.
They needed to check his oxygen levels. I sat there, watching him sleep, and felt the familiar sting of being pushed to the side. I wasn’t his mother. I wasn’t even sure what I was supposed to do with my hands.
I just knew I couldn’t leave. Back at the flat, I found the leak. The damp wall in his bedroom, the musty smell I’d mentioned a hundred times. The moisture meter read thirty percent.
That’s when the pieces clicked into place. It wasn’t just a cough. It was the mold. It had been there all along, slowly poisoning his lungs.
I rushed back to the hospital, the truth burning in my chest. I told Abi what I’d found. Her face crumpled, then hardened. She pointed at me, her voice low and venomous.
“You did this. Where were you when I told you the place needed repair? ”
I tried to explain. I hadn’t known.
But she wasn’t listening. “You better hope he’s okay,” she said. “Because if he isn’t, you won’t be breathing either. ”
The blood tests confirmed it.
The antibodies were consistent with exposure to fungal spores. Alfie’s breathing was directly linked to the mold in the flat. The landlord, Edgar, was nowhere to be found. I promised myself he’d answer for this.
While I sat with Alfie, my phone buzzed. It was Brody. I’d spotted him earlier, shoving a terrified-looking man into the back of Idris’s car. I had told myself it was nothing.
But when I saw him later, he was bragging about “a little bonus” and telling me he’d put fear into someone. He said it was the only language people like that understand. I looked at him, this kid I was supposed to be looking out for, and I saw the same hard edge that had been creeping in for weeks. I didn’t want him to end up like his dad.
But I could see the path he was on, and I didn’t know how to pull him back. In the hospital corridor, I called Tim. I told him about Brody, about what I’d seen. He said we’d talk to him, go softly, softly.
But I knew Brody. Soft didn’t always get through. Alfie’s doctor came back with good news. Another good night, and he could go home.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I went to get him a chocolate bar from the machine, just to give myself a moment. When I came back, Sally had popped in. She’d brought him a little book.
I thanked her, told her I’d go get another one, just to keep busy. But when I glanced down the corridor, I saw Brody again. He was with Idris, laughing. And I knew, deep down, that I was going to have to be the one to say something.
Whether he wanted to hear it or not. But first, I needed to focus on Alfie. The steroids were working. The breathing was easier.
The doctors were optimistic. For the first time in days, I let myself believe he might actually be okay. When I finally sat back down, I looked at his small face, peaceful in sleep. Abi was still furious, still blaming me.
I couldn’t change her mind. Not yet. But I could stand by her side, whether she wanted me there or not. Edgar would have to deal with the consequences.
And Brody… I’d deal with him after. Right now, this kid in the bed was all that mattered.
