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Tristan goes quiet and twists to look at the front again. Daniel is sitting in Ernesto’s seat with both hands on the wheel and a reserved expression on his face. After my fourth drink, I stumble out of the car and sink to my knees. I have my head buried in my hands when Tristan gets another phone call.
Slowly, he helps me to my feet, and we walk through the double doors of the hospital. All the medical staff steers clear of me like I have some kind of disease.
Anita is waiting for us at the door to the recovery wing. She frowns when she looks at me and says nothing. Tristan and Daniel wait outside, and Anita takes my hand, leading me past several empty rooms, her shoes squeaking against the linoleum floors. On the far end of the hallway, a door is open, and Sam is standing at the foot of a bed with a hand over her mouth.
Isabella is lying on the hospital bed with a tube in her mouth and a machine beeping in the corner. In her paper-thin hospital gown with white-washed walls on either side of her, she looks impossibly small. My knees give out, prompting Sam and Anita to hoist me up. I sink into the nearest chair and bury my face in my hands.
For the first time in years, I cry. My shoulders shake and heave as wave after wave of emotion washes over me.
Anita places a hand on my shoulders and squeezes. “The doctor said they had to put her in a medically induced coma to reduce the side effects.”
My tongue feels heavy and awkward. “Side effects?”
“Because her blood pressure dropped, she got an infection,” Anita explains in the same low voice. “She’s stable now, but they have no idea when she’s going to wake up.”
“Or if,” I add in an impossibly soft voice. “This can’t be fucking happening.”
Anita crouches in front of me and waits till I look up at her. “Look at me, Carter. Isabella is strong. Stronger than any of us give her credit for, and she’s been through a lot. You can’t give up on her, and if you’re not going to do it for yourself, do it for your daughter.”
I stare at Anita, some of my anger abating.
“Your daughter needs you,” Anita adds, with a lift of her chin. “Let’s go check on her. Sam and Tristan will stay with Isabella.”
In spite of my protests, Anita drags me away. On my way past Sam and Tristan, I see him gather her into his arms as she sobs. I force myself to look away as we step onto the elevator. There’s still a low pounding in my ears and knots in my stomach as I wait for the doors to ping open. On the fourth floor, when they open, the smell of air freshener hits me first.
There are women in pink scrubs rushing past in either direction.
Anita’s grip on my arm is still secure as she drags me across the floor and stops on the other side of a glass display. She scans the babies through the window and settles on a lone figure in the back, inside of an incubator. Then she releases my arm and twists to face me, her eyes filling with tears.
“You need to see your daughter.” Anita gestures to a nurse, and she brings over medical gowns to put over our clothes. I don’t say anything as Anita takes my hand, just like she used to do when I was a little boy, and we step through the glass doors. The room is warm, and there’s a soft humming sound in the background.
When we reach the incubator, Anita steps on the other side of it and peers. “She’s so beautiful, Carter.”
I touch two fingers to the glass, and something in me crumbles and unfurls. “She does.”
“Tristan told me about Remy Donahue,” Anita continues without looking at me. “He told me that you didn’t fight back at all and were willing to let him kill you.”
I shrug and continue to study the frail figure wrapped in a tiny blanket, her small and round face a bright shade of red. She uncurls her fingers and stretches her arms over her head. Then she twists when I begin to whisper under my breath.
“You still have something to live for, Carter, and something to fight for. Remember that.” Anita squeezes my shoulder on her way past. For a while, I stay there, hardly able to believe that the tiny bundle, scarcely able to take a breath, is mine.
She’s the best of Isabella and I combined.
When the nurse comes back in to check on her, I leave.
I don’t stop walking until I reach the recovery room and find Sam asleep on a chair by Isabella’s side. Her mouth is half open, and her hair is a wild mess around her face, but she’s holding onto one of Isabella’s hands. I pull up another chair and take Isabella’s free hand. My stomach tightens as I brush her hair out of her face and exhale.
“I need you to come back,” I whisper, inches away from her face. “She needs you… our daughter needs you. She’s so small and frail, and you’re the one she needs. Not me.”
Isabella’s chest rises and falls evenly, the machine still beeping steadily.
“We’ve been through a lot,” I continue in the same thick voice. “And even when you were angry with me, you still loved me, and you still cared about me… and I… I don’t want to be that man anymore. I’m not sure if what you saw in me is still there, and I don’t know if I’m worth saving.”
Because there’s too much darkness and chaos inside of me. And it was a lie to believe I could overcome all of it.
For a few brief moments, I let myself believe things could be different. But I know better now.
I bring her hands up to my lips for a kiss. “Just come back, and I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever is best for you and the baby.”
