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"I know…" I admitted as I bit my lower lip. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I didn't do better."
"Don't apologize to your daughter. Just make sure she lives and grows up comfortably," Dr William advised. "It's your responsibility as a parent."
"Dad said something similar," I chuckled softly.
"Then listen to him and do your best," she said.
And boy, did I do my best. Or my definition of my best. I made sure she got the drugs she wanted. I even stopped traveling to take care of her and watch her. She was so full of life that it was hard to believe she had Stickler. At seven months she stopped suckling, and started walking by fourteen months.
When she turned two, I took her to school. The image of my daughter beaming with smiles as she made her way to school is still burned into my memory. These were the next happiest days of my life: leaving work early to pick her up from school. Checking on her health and administering drugs, I was confident that my daughter would grow up strong and conquer this just like Mom did.
But one day, I got an emergency call from the school. Sophia had collapsed. The teachers were aware of her condition and made sure she didn't do any strenuous activities. For her age, she was very strong and obedient, giving me and her teachers less to worry about her health. But hearing that she had collapsed, I panicked.
Dr. William had to go herself to pick her up, as no one wanted me on the road. Sophia's health worsened. She started falling sick more often, and the drugs just seemed to be prolonging her pain.
I didn't like my powerlessness. I had helped other children get better, but it seemed that no matter what I did; I wasn't able to help my daughter. Sophia, just like Dad, remained smiling. The doctors and other nurses let me work lesser shifts without cutting my pay, so I could look after her. Dr. William covered the medical expenses.
I had enough help, but I could do nothing. When Sophia died, I felt alone and overwhelmed with guilt. My mother died because she had me. My father worked himself to death, just to make sure I lived comfortably. My boyfriend left me because I was willing to keep our child. My daughter died because I made wrong decisions in choosing a partner, and I was powerless to help her. The problem was obvious. I had bad luck.
It became more evident. Besides my work at hospitals as an auxiliary nurse, everything else in my life was going downhill. I started losing things and became more careless. People were moving on with their lives, celebrating the birthdays of parents and children, getting married, among others, but I remained alone, committed to my work.
I know it sounds like I didn't do anything, but I tried. No one was looking my way, no matter how hard I looked at them. But you looked at me, Ben. From the moment you paid attention to me, I knew that I could finally move on with my life and stop wallowing in guilt.
I thought wrong and let the fear of my bad luck chase me away from you. I thought the hit-and-miss moments with my bad luck were over, but Jason came back and, well, you had to find out this way. I just wish I could have told you sooner. I was worried about what you'd think…and thus ended my sob story.
Chapter fourteen
I Will Take All Your Bad Luck
Olivia
I had never told anyone this much about myself. The only exception was Dr. Helen Williams, but I didn't even tell her everything. I was convinced that Ben would be upset and understand that my being around him and his daughter would only cause problems for both of them, but he was quiet.
"I'm sorry," I apologized, "I probably bored you to sleep, anyway."
Still, no response, save for a heavy sigh that sounded labored. I tried to sit up and look at his face but he held me in place.
"Don't…" he said.
"Are you that upset at me?" I asked, although I expected something like this I didn't expect it to hurt.
"No…"
I sat up as his hold loosened. I noticed his cheeks were wet with tears.
"Why?" I asked.
"Nothing," he replied with a frown as he wiped his face.
"I know it was a sob story, but you don't have to actually sob you know?" I teased. "You don't have to cry for little old me."
He sat upright and embraced me, "And you don't have to act so tough."
"I'm not…"
"Shut up," he said softly as his embrace got tighter.
His embrace was so warm. I could feel the genuine concern and love he had for me just by being held by him.
