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Benjamin is awake when I open his door to check on him.
It’s not so strange. He usually wakes up sometime around midnight to eat. The only difference is, he isn’t crying. He’s just lying in his crib, staring up at the perfectly still mobile hanging over his head. Tiny wooden airplanes floating beneath a white cloud.
Did Timofey order that for him? The thought of Timofey standing in the infant section of a store, picking out mobiles, is laughable.
Also, adorable.
If Timofey wanted, he could have any woman in the world. All he’d need to do is take Benjamin on a walk down the street. Handsome men with adorable babies are catnip to single women.
Myself included.
“Hi, bud,” I whisper, peeking over the edge of the crib of the adorable baby in question. “Are you hungry?”
He won’t respond, I know, but he doesn’t even act like he can hear me.
I pluck him out of the crib and move him to the changing pad strapped to his dresser. As I undo his swaddle, the usual pocket of warmth I find between the layers of his clothing is noticeably absent.
“Is it too cold in here?” I ask, sticking a foot out to feel warm air flowing out of the air vent near the floor. It seems normal. “Maybe I’ll turn up the heat. What do you think about that, huh?”
His chubby arms are limp at his sides. When I pick him up, they dangle behind him, his fingers loose rather than curled into dimpled fists.
The beginnings of panic curls in my chest, coiling like a snake ready to pounce. I ignore it, though. I’m being dramatic. I’m worried over nothing.
“You’re just hungry,” I coo against his round cheek. “We’ll get you something to eat, and you’ll be right as rain.”
I hold onto that hope until I step into the butcher’s pantry and flip on the light.
Usually, Benjamin blinks at the brightness or recoils, but he doesn’t react at all to being bathed in harsh white light. Even worse, I look down and see a blue ring around his lips.
The snake in my chest goes wild.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, stroking his face. Suddenly, he feels cold. Was he always this cold? Or is it me?
My heart is racing, but I feel like I’m not getting any blood to my extremities. My hands and feet tingle, and I feel lightheaded.
I sink down to the floor, Benjamin lying across my knees. I press my palm to his tiny chest to assure myself his heart is still beating.
“You’re okay,” I whisper when I feel the faint, fluttering thud against my hand. “You’re going to be okay.”
I take a deep breath and do the only thing I can think of. The only thing that makes sense.
I call Timofey.
For a second, I worry he won’t answer. Maybe he thinks I’m calling to explain myself or apologize. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that any more than I want to do it.
Then I hear his voice, deep and firm. I grab onto the lifeline.
“What?” he barks.
“Timofey. Benjamin.” So many words and explanations are running through my head, but that’s all I can get out.
There’s a beat of hesitation before he responds. “What are you saying?”
“Benjamin,” I try again, working hard to slow the racing of my heart. “He’s not crying or… or fussing. He is quiet and—and—he’s blue. His lips are… Something is wrong with him. We need to—”
“I’ll be there soon.”
The line goes dead.
