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“A nurse will call you when she’s all set. Take care.”
And then he’s gone.
“That’s good news,” Dani says softly, coming to my other side.
“It is,” I say. But nothing feels completely good right now. She still had a stroke. It was mild this time. There’s no telling what the future will bring, though, or how this may affect her overall long term.
I suck in a breath. Force another out.
That’s tomorrow’s problem.
For the moment, my mother is going to be okay. I glance over at Miles, who has stepped away—probably still trying to give me space. I need to figure out how to be okay. How to move forward. Only I can’t do that here because I have to deal with what’s in front of me.
Sighing, I sit down in a chair.
I hate waiting.
Waiting is all I did today. Waiting to see the doctor. Waiting to see my mom. Waiting to talk to another doctor and the therapy team.
I still don’t know exactly what to say. About anything. My mom is doing well enough. She’s sleepy and disoriented—more so than usual, because her combativeness only increased into the night and they had to give her a mild sedative. It’s for the better, probably. In some ways, it made seeing her easier. There was a clear reason she couldn’t communicate—the meds she’d been given. It was still hard to see her looking so pale and fragile. It makes me nervous that there will be more of this in the future. It wasn’t severe this time, but next time it could be.
The good news is that her speech is mostly back to normal, and the speech therapist thinks it will continue to improve over the next day or two. She had some mild muscle weakness on her right side and additional fine motor struggles, but that’s something for the therapy team to work on to improve as much as possible.
It’s still a waiting game.
And I’m still waiting to talk to Miles.
As I sit down in the car, I let out a long breath. Okay. I handled the stuff with my mom as much as I can today. Miles sighs as he drops into the driver’s seat and wordlessly starts the car.
Now I have to handle this, even though I have no idea how he’s feeling, how I’m feeling, or what to say.
All I can control is…
What I say.
What do I want to say?
I close my eyes and settle in for the twenty-minute drive, praying I’ll find the right words before we get home.
Miles
I’ve grown to hate silence. It’s never comfortable anymore. It never leads anywhere good. Yet silence is all there’s been since we left the hospital. I don’t blame Amelia. Today has been a lot to process. We thought we’d have a baby appointment and dinner, not hours upon hours spent in the hospital.
I’m exhausted. I have no idea where we stand with each other. The absolute last thing I want is to leave again.
We trudge into the apartment and slip off our shoes. Amelia sets her purse on the kitchen counter and starts down the hall toward the bedrooms, but I can’t make my feet move. I plop onto a stool, dropping my head into my hands as I sigh.
“Miles? Are you okay?” Amelia asks a moment later, and I jump, surprised to find her standing next to me.
My sigh is rough as I look at her. “I don’t want to push you. You’ve been through enough today.”
Her eyes flutter closed for just a second, and when she opens them again, they’re glassy. “Please tell me. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s okay. Just… please.”
The vulnerability in her voice—her unwillingness to look away—surprises me. It forces my fearful words out. “I don’t want to pack a bag. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to walk out this door not knowing when we’re going to talk or see each other again.” Standing up, I splay my hand over her stomach and rest my forehead against hers. “I love you, and I don’t want to be without you.”
She lets out a shaky breath, her lip trembling. “Good. Because I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to watch you walk out that door again unless I know I’ll be in your arms later that night.”
My eyes widen in shock as relief slowly trickles in. “Really?”
