“She’s in critical condition but she’ll pull through. I repaired her spleen. Orthopedics reconstructed her left arm. She has two broken ribs and, thankfully, no punctured lungs. Neurology is keeping her sedated for a few days.”
“Is there brain function?”
He bobs his head. “They can’t tell until the swelling goes down. I heard two of the babies will pull through, but the girl—”
“We’re operating on her,” I cut him off before he jinxes me.
“You scrubbing?”
“Just assisting, since she’s my daughter,” I admit.
He sighs. “Oh. I had no idea.”
Me neither, but I won’t tell him that part.
Dr. Schneider pats me on the back. “Spend a few minutes with your wife before you head to the OR. I’ll make a few notes on the chart and alert the hospital that the patients are some of ours.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
“Are you coming back?”
I don’t know what I will do tomorrow or the day after. I will probably spend the next few months in the hospital caring for my family. I scrub my face with both hands. Only a few minutes ago, I was willing to give up my entire career to save my daughter. I would give anything up for her.
“Spearman, you have to trust us. We’ll make sure they pull through, okay?”
“Thank you,” I say in a monotone voice.
When I enter the room, my heart sinks. Atzi is surrounded by machines, tubes, and everything she’s hated since her parents died and she woke up alone in a hospital room.
Gently, I kiss the top of her head. “Hey, love,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done these past few months. I was an idiot and a coward. There’s no excuse for how I acted, but ironically, I’ve been trying to fix myself so I could come back to you.”
If she was conscious, she’d probably give me shit about it. I’ll have to grovel for days before she tells me I’m her person and she can’t be angry at me.
But things have changed since then. I’m probably the last human on the face of the earth she wants to see, and she’s sedated, fighting for her life. Sure, Dr. Schneider said she’s critical but she’ll pull through. We know what critical means.
It means that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will define her future. She’ll either live or die.
She has to live.
“Talk to me, love,” I beg.
There’s no response. The only sound in the room is the beeping of the machines. The assurance that she has a pulse. She’s still with me.
“I met them. Our babies. They’re tiny, and… our little girl needs surgery. Ben will perform the procedure, but I’ll guide him through every step, okay? I promise everything will be fine.”
But the promise feels empty. I begin to cry, feeling helpless. The dread is stronger than the one I faced when Dad died.
I feel an arm on my shoulder. “You should be heading to the OR,” Lysander says.
“Where’s my girl?”
“They already rolled her over,” he explains to me. “I’ll stay with Atzi.”
I glance at her, praying that she’s okay. The world can’t lose her. We can’t lose her.
“This isn’t your fault either,” he says.
I snort.
“Dad wasn’t your fault,” he utters.
“Why does it feel like it was?” I touch my temple. “Even when I’m going to therapy to understand it, it’s too fucking hard to erase what happened that day.”
“You believe it because before our mother went into a catatonic state, she blamed you. I should’ve stopped her or talked to you. However, I was too busy dealing with other issues.”
“What exactly happened to him? You guys said his heart gave out, but I need more.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t.”
“What if any of us share the congenital defect?”
He scoffs. “I’d be more concerned about inheriting our mother’s fucked-up genes.”
“What does that mean?”
“Dr. Spearman, report to the pediatric OR.”
“This isn’t over,” I warn him.
“Save your little girl, okay?” He presses his lips together. “When we have this conversation, you must be ready to hear the truth.”
“Does it have anything to do with Dad’s infidelity?”
“It has to do with infidelity, but there’s more that you might not be able to handle,” he warns me.
I place that in a box and save it for later. All I need now is the knowledge I’ve gathered throughout these years that will help me save my little girl.
Chapter Forty-One
Heath
Keeping my mind straight has been almost impossible. I’m thankful for Benedict. So far, he’s done an excellent job. We’re on the last step of the surgery. He’s closing her tiny chest when her pulse begins to decrease.
“Sweetie.” I take her tiny little hand with my fingers. “You’re almost there, baby. Please, don’t leave us. Please don’t.”
The sound of the flatline shatters what’s left of my heart. I push very lightly on her chest. “Let’s do it together, princess. You can do it. One. Two. Three. One. Two. Three.”
I pray to God, I beg my father to watch over her, and because I’m desperate, I ask Atzi’s parents to forgive me for failing their daughter but beg them to return my little girl to us. She’s not ready to leave. I’m not prepared to let her go. This would destroy Atzi.
There’s so much more for us.
The monitor begins to beep again. “Pulse is normal,” Ben says.
“I love you, little one. I love you more than you’ll ever understand,” I whisper before I move away so that Ben can finish and the nurses can take her back to the NICU.
“You did well,” Ben says on our way out.
“Thank you for saving her.”
“It was an honor to do it and to learn from you. What’s next?”
“Wait.” It’s a one-word answer, but I definitely don’t have more to say.
All I can do for the next few days is wait next to my family and hope for the best. Now I understand the husbands, parents, and children of my patients. Their agony. The pain. The fear in their eyes. Everything we say is just gibberish which means they’ll either live or die.
“D’s staying around so he can keep an eye on Bernie. If you need anything from us, let us know.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Let’s go and update Cécile and the rest of the family.”
Everyone is still in the waiting room.
“How are they?”
Ben is the one who answers. My brain is no longer connecting with my mouth. This feels surreal. I’m outside my body, watching everyone’s reactions, including mine. I’m listening to my best friend word for word, but his words don’t mean a thing to me.
“The police might come back tomorrow morning,” Elliot says, snapping me out of my trance.
“Why?” I ask. “Wasn’t this an accident?”
“I want to believe that it was, but”—Elliot pinches the bridge of his nose—“the car was waiting on the other side of the street. I saw that car when I entered the building, and a man was talking to him, handing him money. The next thing I know, Atzi is crossing the street, and another vehicle comes out of nowhere at high speed. I was able to take down the plates, but the police are hoping they can talk to Atzi.”