"Honey, you have to make sure it's not on the highest setting before you turn it on!"

Lilly's laughter made it difficult for her to get out the words she was trying to tell me.

Important words they were considering the kitchen, as well as myself, was covered in a thin layer of flour.

Looking down at the electric mixer in my hand I came to the conclusion that I preferred using my hands.

Pushing the stupid machine to the side I attempted to dust the flour off of my shirt, only to find I was only able to put more on as the flour on my hands transferred to my shirt.

An angry grunt followed the next attempts to get some of it off before I looked to a hunched over Lilly still cackling at me from her wheeled chair.

I smiled despite myself; her laughter was infectious. "You are just the silliest girl, honey." I had never been addressed by someone with such enthusiasm, although I didn't remember my name, Lilly seemed to make me feel as if her nicknames for me had always been a part of myself.

I'll admit the first week I was here seemed to tick on slowly. I was unhappy and contentment in my circumstances seemed far from my state of being.

Eventually, I have seemed to at the very least to become more in agreement with my surroundings.

It helped that Lily made it easy to pass the time when I let her try to accompany me. Good were these things, however; anxiousness aside, I was excited about the prospect of going to work with Ben. My mind not straying from the idea since Lilly brought it up earlier in the week.

As much as I loved spending time with Lilly, the once-exciting activities had started to turn into repetitive routines. We had done more puzzles than I could count, and what had initially been an eagerness to go with Ben to work had quietly faded into occasional hints rather than any active pursuit.

The days passed slowly, and while I cherished the growing bond between Lilly and me, there was an unspoken fear that tugged at me—a fear that asking to leave would somehow hurt her feelings.

Lilly seemed to enjoy our time together as much as I did. We laughed often, her hand resting on my back, comforting in its warmth. We'd share these smiles so wide that our cheeks would ache from the effort. It was in those moments that everything felt serene, almost perfect.

But then it happened again.

Lilly's laughter suddenly turned into a harsh, violent cough, tearing through the peace that had settled between us. Her body jerked forward, one hand clutching at her chest, the other covering her mouth as the fit took hold. It was as if the air refused to reach her lungs, and she gasped, wheezing between each agonizing hack.

I froze, my mind racing with helplessness as I watched her struggle. The soft cloth she always kept nearby came up to her lips, and I could see the deepening red stains blooming against its surface—tiny drops of blood marring the white fabric.

The sight of it made my stomach twist, fear prickling at the edges of my thoughts. I had seen Ben react to these coughing fits before, rubbing her back, trying to soothe her, but nothing seemed to help. The coughs racked her frail body, each one leaving her more exhausted than the last.

I reached out, instinctively rubbing her back as Ben had done before, but it felt like a feeble attempt. She kept coughing, her breaths shallow and ragged, and for what felt like an eternity, there was nothing I could do but watch and wait.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless struggle, the fit began to subside. Lilly slumped against me, her body trembling with fatigue, her breathing still uneven. She leaned into me, exhausted, her head resting on my shoulder as she tried to catch her breath.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of her labored breathing.

I stayed with her like that, my heart pounding in my chest, unsure of what to say or do.

My eyes darted around the room, desperate for something—anything—that might help. Then, I spotted the phone sitting on the counter.

I pointed to it, my voice trembling as I said, "Call Ben?"

The words came out higher-pitched than I intended, betraying my anxiety. Lilly's frail hand reached up and grasped mine, her grip weak and shaky, a gesture that only deepened my concern.

"No, baby," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "We don't need to call him. I'm alright, I promise."

But her words felt like a lie. Her body, still trembling from the coughing fit, told a different story.

"I don't think—" I started, my voice small, but she cut me off with a gentle shake of her head, her tired eyes pleading with me to drop the subject.

"I'm gonna go lie down for a bit before Benny gets back," she said, her words calm but exhausted. Without waiting for me to protest, Lilly turned her chair toward the hallway, slowly wheeling herself back to the bedroom.

I watched her disappear behind the closed door, uncertainty gnawing at me. Her reassurances did little to quiet the dread creeping into my thoughts. She was trying to shield me from her weakness, but I could see through it.

The room seemed too still after she left, and just as I was about to sit down, the shrill ring of the phone echoed from the corner, startling me.

I glanced between the phone and Lilly's closed bedroom door, feeling the weight of the choice pressing down on me. I knew she wouldn't get up to answer it. Hesitation gnawed at me, but the phone kept ringing, pulling me forward. With trembling hands, I picked up the receiver, bringing it to my ear.

"Lilly? You there?" Ben's voice crackled through the static, familiar yet distant.

"No." The word slipped out before I could stop it. A small chuckle came in response, distorted by the poor connection.

"Well, hello, miss. Interesting to hear you on the phone. Where's Lilly?"

Another dilemma. Lilly had told me not to call Ben, but now he was asking me about her. My mind spun, trying to find a way to balance the promise she wanted me to keep and the truth I couldn't ignore.

Technically, I reasoned, I didn't call Ben—he called me. So, maybe telling him wasn't really breaking her request. Right?

My fingers tightened around the phone as I tried to form the right words, each one like a puzzle piece just out of reach. Finding a way to explain it was hard with my limited vocabulary, but I had to try.

"Lilly... is sick," I said, my voice small but determined. Simple and to the point, the only way I knew how.

There was a pause on the line, the kind that felt like it stretched for miles, and then came a deep sigh, one of those that seemed to carry years of understanding with it.

"I see," Ben finally replied, his tone soft but tinged with worry. "I'll be home soon. Don't worry, miss. Everything'll be alright. Goodbye."

The line went quiet, the faint buzzing of the receiver echoing in my ear. Slowly, I set the phone back down

With intended steps, I quietly made my way to the edge of Lilly and Ben's bedroom. I didn't open it but instead grabbed a pillow from the couch and sat down.

Now I play the waiting game, if Ben wasn't here right now, I would be.