Page 33 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

And while I would do the same thing for Bonnie in a heartbeat or less, the fact that I have nannies to handle that means it’s just never been an issue.

The panic and fear that builds inside of my chest as the elevator takes me down to the second floor is like nothing that I’ve ever experienced before. I have never wanted to simply snap my fingers and be somewhere else as badly as I do right now, in this moment.

The doors finally slide open, and I throw myself out of them, half-running down the hall, my Crocs squeaking and sliding over the tiles. I let myself into the office and the nurse, evidently having been informed of my impending arrival, lets me into the next room.

Amanda is sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs next to the bed, all but collapsed onto Carter. He looks up at me with wide eyes. “Fuck. There you are.”

The relief in his words is clear.

I drop down onto my knees in front of Amanda so hard that they crack painfully against the tile floor and take hold of her hands in my own. “Amanda?”

She’s crying too hard to speak but does shift away from Carter to me. She leans forward and rests her forehead against my shoulder. I’ve never seen her like this before, so broken, like she can’t even think about existing.

For the longest time, all I can do is kneel there. Carter gets up and leaves, not saying anything to me. He’s done his part, staying at Amanda’s side until I got here. Now though, the torch has been passed on, and it’s up to me to not only figure out what’s wrong, but also how the problem can be solved.

I sit there on my knees, hushing her and soothing a hand over the curve of her back, stroking fingers through her hair, and trying to calm her down for so long, my feet start to go to sleep. When she can finally breathe again, Amanda pulls back.

I get up, staggering a little bit as the pins and needles rush through my feet, and grab a paper towel from the side of the counter. I give Amanda a dry one and then use the nearby sink to wet a few, returning to her side once I’ve wrung them out.

Sitting down in the chair next to her, I use the wet paper towel to wipe over her cheeks and her eyes. Her face is ruddy and puffy from crying. Her eyes are bloodshot, swollen slightly, and look as though she’s about to start crying all over again.

“Amanda,” I say, softly. “Honey, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” says Amanda, her voice trembling. She keeps having to stop and physically pull in a breath of air, still working at calming down from her crying spell. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to not tell you. I only figured it out last week.”

“Figured what out? Are you sick, Amanda?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not me.” Her hands fall down to her belly, pressing against it. “But…”

She doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I’m not stupid. I can piece two and two together.

Still, the words feel as though they’ve been punched out of me. “You’re pregnant.”

Amanda nods. “I had a bad feeling about it. That’s why I made Carter come with me. I had a bad feeling, and I was right. I was right!”

“Something’s wrong with the baby,” I say, the words choked. It’s hard to even begin to parse through how I’m feeling, but after a moment of shock, I come to the decision that it just doesn’t matter. Right now, the only thing that’s important is trying to get Amanda calmed down.

“Margur’s disease,” she says, and the words are a whisper, as though she’s saying something foul.

A sensation not unlike cold water is dumped down my back. I have to struggle to maintain my composure, telling her, “You wait right here. I’m going to take care of Dr. Joyce, and then I’m taking you home.”

Amanda doesn’t argue, so I step out into the hallway. The first thing I do, actually, is put a call in to Cheryl at home and ask her to take Bonnie out. A movie, dinner, wherever she wants to go. I need three hours at the house without her, though, so that there’s time to handle Amanda.

“Just an emergency,” I tell Cheryl when she asks. “It won’t take long.”

Thankfully, Cheryl doesn’t need more instructions than that. It’s not the first time that I’ve called last minute and asked her to do something specific with Bonnie, though it’s normally something at the house, not outside of it.

It took a lot of trial and error to find reliable nannies like the ones that are working for me now, but at times like this, I’m reminded of how worth it that trial and error was. Now, I won’t have to try and keep Bonnie out of Amanda’s hair while she’s calming down and sorting through her own thoughts.

As sweet as my daughter is, some things just don’t require the help of an eight-year-old.

Then, I go talk to Dr. Joyce.

“The tests were done three times,” Dr. Joyce assures me. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t even know she was pregnant,” I admit.

Dr. Joyce nods. “She asked me not to tell you.”

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