Page 34 of Healing Bonds

A doctor in blue scrubs came over to me, a surgical mask covering his mouth. “She’ll be fully awake in the next thirty minutes. Do you want me to tell her the news or you?” The surgical mask over his face slightly muffled his words, making it difficult to hear him.

I swallowed thickly. “I’ll do it. Just get me closer to her.”

“We’ll give you two some time to talk, and then, we’ll need to proceed.” He rounded up the nurses and left the room, closing the door with a muted thud.

I had been wheeled to the side of Amber’s bed, where I instantly grabbed her hand in mine and traced the soft skin of her arm, reminding myself that she was alive, that she was okay. We would be okay… somehow. We had to be.

Thirty minutes passed quickly with her becoming more alert with every passing minute. “Ryan…” Her soft voice echoed in the small room.

“Hey, baby.” I caressed her face, tracing her lips with my thumb.

“Where are we? What happened?” Her voice was croaky from sleep.

“We were in a car accident earlier today. A drunk driver hit us at an intersection and hurt you pretty badly. They’ve had to operate on you, but you won’t feel it until later when the medicine wears off. I have to tell you something,” I drew in a deep breath, pain slicing through my chest, “and I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

“Oh, God, did I lose a leg? An arm?” she mumbled, closing her eyes. I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t find it in me—not now,not when I knew in a minute, she was going to be crying. Falling apart.

“No, baby. I’m sorry to do this to you…” I paused, sending up a silent prayer that she would forgive me one day.

“Tell me, Ryan,” she begged me, her green eyes opening, observing me, absolutely captivating.

“You’re pregnant, but the baby didn’t survive the crash.” Fuck, that didn’t come out right. The sheer panic in her eyes told me I was already fucking this up.

“Pregnant? Me?” she questioned.

“Five months, baby,” my voice was too raw, “and now, you have to have a stillbirth.”

She stared at me for a moment as she comprehended my words. Then, her eyes filled with tears. “No! You’re lying! No, Ryan!” she screamed, tears forming in her green eyes.

“I wish I was.” I swallowed thickly, wishing I could take away all of this pain I caused her and make it my own. I never wanted her to go through this. I hated myself for it. For not protecting her better. For not being more aware of my surroundings. “I wish I could take this all away. I’m so sorry.” I reached for her, needing to pull her into my arms, but she pushed me away.

“They must be wrong. It must be alive. It has to be,” she pleaded, tears rushing down her cheeks. I shook my head, feeling my own tears falling down my face. They burned against my skin.

“It’s a girl,” I whispered.

“No!” she wailed, hitting my chest. Pain vibrated through my whole body, but I stayed still. I was trained to endure pain. She could hurt me all she wanted, as long as it made her feel better.

“Why do I have to be awake for this?” she sobbed. “Why did you wake me?” she cried, ripping my heart in two as her tortured cries and screams filled the room.

“We get to hold her,” I tried placating her, but it didn’t work. She just shook her head, her red hair coming lose from the cap. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sound of raw pain came out instead, and she just wailed, slicing my heart in two.

I held her in my arms until the doctor came back with the nurses. “Unfortunately, it’s time, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.”

The sound that ripped from Amber’s throat tore the remaining part of my soul completely in half.

“Do you want to hold her?” the doctor asked an hour later. Amber had cried enough tears to fill a small swimming pool, and I hadn’t held back either. The salty taste of my tears was a reminder on my lips of how much I’d cried. I nodded, and they walked over to me with the tiny, still forming baby, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

I held my breath as I took in her lifeless face and saw a perfect, beautiful, little girl in my hands, just like her mother. Our first baby girl hadn’t even had a chance to live. And it was my fucking fault.

“Ames?” She looked at me with big, watery eyes, her lips trembling. Her blotched cheeks were highlighted by the trails of tears and sweat shining on her forehead. She was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, even broken and shattered and too pale.

She took our baby girl into her hands and wept. “Oh, God, why? Oh, God,” she cried, her finger tracing the tiny curve of our baby’s nose. “She’s beautiful,” she sobbed. I put a hand on her leg, and she flinched instantly, pain flashing in her eyes. I removed my hand, hating that within a few moments, I had managed to destroy my spitfire.

“Would you like to name her?” the doctor asked, watching us with no emotion. I knew what it was like—to have to separate yourself from the situation at hand. I looked at Amber, knowing this was her call.

“Angel Wilson,” she whispered, looking at the doctor before her eyes cast back down to the baby.

My throat bobbed as I swallowed, staring at our sweet baby girl.

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