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It went against every instinct he had to leave Margo alone in this moment. He wanted to tell her how he loved her, and yet she couldn’t even bear to look at him. How had this happened?
‘Margo—’ he began, only to realise from the way her breathing had evened out that she was asleep. He touched her cheek, wanting her to know even in sleep how he felt, and then quietly left the room.
‘It’s difficult to say what’s going to happen,’ the doctor told Leo when he went to ask for more details about his son’s condition. ‘Of course there have been terrific strides made in the care of premature babies. But I don’t like to give any promises at this stage, because premature infants’ immune systems aren’t fully developed and neither are their lungs. It’s very easy for them to catch an infection and have it become serious.’
Leo nodded, his throat tight. He’d just tried to promise Margo it was going to be okay. But she was right: he couldn’t promise anything. And he didn’t know if their marriage, fragile as it was, would survive this.
He stood outside the neonatal ICU and watched his impossibly small son flail tiny red fists. He was covered in tubes to help him breathe, eat, live. It made Leo ache with a fierce love—and a desperate fear.
Eventually he went back to see Margo. She was awake and sitting up in bed, and while the sight of her lifted his spirits, the expression on her face did not.
‘The doctor says the next few weeks will be crucial,’ Leo said.
Margo nodded; she looked almost indifferent to this news.
‘He’ll have to stay in hospital for a while—at least a month.’
Another nod.
‘He can’t be taken out of the ICU,’ Leo ventured, ‘and we can’t hold him yet, but I could wheel you up there so you can at least see him?’
Margo stared at him for a moment before she answered quietly, ‘I don’t think so.’
Leo stared at her in shock. ‘Margo—’
‘I told you before, I’d like to be alone.’
She turned away from him and he stared at her helplessly.
‘Margo, please. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘Nothing is going on. I’ve just realised.’ She drew a quick, sharp breath. ‘I can’t do this. I thought I could—I wanted to—but I can’t.’
‘Can’t do what?’
‘This.’ She gestured with one limp hand to the space between them. ‘Marriage. Motherhood. Any of it. I can’t let myself love someone and have them taken away again. I just...can’t.’
‘Margo, I won’t leave you—’
‘Maybe not physically,’ she allowed. ‘You have too much honour for that. But you told me yourself you didn’t love me—’
‘That was months ago—’
‘And nothing’s changed, has it?’ She lifted her resolute gaze to his in weary challenge. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ she repeated.
Leo wondered if she was saying that nothing had changed for her. She didn’t love him.
For a second he remained silent, and a second was all Margo needed for affirmation.
She nodded. ‘I thought so. We only had a couple of months together, Leo. They were lovely, I suppose, but that’s all they were.’
‘No.’ Finally he found his voice, along with his resolve. ‘No, Margo. I don’t accept that. I won’t let you torpedo our marriage simply because you’re afraid.’
‘Of course I’m afraid,’ she snapped, her voice rising in anger. ‘Do you even know what it’s like to lose someone—?’
‘I lost both my parents,’ Leo answered. ‘So, yes, I do.’
‘Yes, of course you do,’ she acknowledged. ‘But a child. A child I was responsible for—a child who looked to me for love and care and food and everything—’ Her voice broke and her shoulders began to shake with sobs.
‘Margo...Margo...’ Leo crooned softly and, sitting on the edge of the bed, gently put his arms around her.
She stilled, unable to move away from him but still trying to keep herself distant. Safe. But safety, Leo realised, was Margo knowing how he truly felt.
‘I love you,’ he said, and then, in case she still doubted him, he said it again. ‘I love you. And that will never change. No matter what happens. No matter what.’
To his surprise and dismay her shoulders shook harder.
She pulled away from him, wiping the tears from her face. ‘Oh, Leo. I don’t deserve you.’
‘Deserve? What does this have to do with deserving?’
‘It’s my fault Annelise died. Maybe it’s my fault our son is in such danger. I might have done something... I don’t deserve...’
