Page 77 of Secret Baby's Second Shot

Ava nodded, her trust in us unwavering, and it nearly broke me. As they wheeled her bed toward the OR, I felt like my heart was being carried away with her.

The waitingroom felt impossibly cold, the sterile walls closing in as Enzo and I sat side by side. Neither of us spoke, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on our shoulders. Elaine and Richard arrived shortly after, their expressions a mix of worry and determination. Elaine sat beside me, her arm wrapping around my shoulders as I tried to hold myself together.

“She’s a fighter,” Elaine said softly. “She gets that from you.”

I nodded, my tears slipping silently down my cheeks. Enzo stood abruptly, pacing the length of the room, his hands running through his hair. “I can’t just sit here,” he said, his voice raw. “I need to do something.”

“There’s nothing to do right now except wait,” Richard said gently.

Enzo stopped, his hands braced against the back of a chair. “Waiting is the worst part.”

The minutes turned into hours,each one heavier than the last. Messages of support began flooding in on our phones—texts from friends, comments on social media posts, and even strangers reaching out to share their prayers for Ava.

“I had no idea so many people cared,” I whispered, scrolling through the messages with shaky hands.

“They care because of Ava,” Elaine said, smiling softly. “And because they see how much you love her.”

I looked at Enzo, who had finally sat down beside me again, his head in his hands. “We’re not alone in this,” I said quietly.

He looked up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “No, we’re not,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.

When the surgeonfinally emerged from the OR, his expression unreadable, I felt the world tilt beneath me. “How is she?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“She made it through the surgery,” he said, his tone measured. “But the next 24 hours are critical. Her body needs to respond well for the surgery to be fully successful.”

Relief and fear crashed over me in equal measure. Enzo reached for my hand, his grip firm as we braced ourselves for what came next.

42

SUMMER

The surgeon’s words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. “The operation was successful in addressing the immediate issue,” Dr. Simmons said, his voice calm but laced with gravity. “But Ava’s recovery is critical. The next 24 hours will tell us if her body is strong enough to respond to the changes.” I nodded numbly, my hands gripping the edge of the chair as if it were the only thing keeping me upright. Beside me, Enzo sat rigid, his jaw clenched and his hands tightly folded in his lap. He hadn’t spoken since the surgeon walked in, but I could feel the tension radiating off him.

“What are the odds?” Enzo asked finally, his voice low and controlled. Dr. Simmons sighed, his gaze shifting between us. “It’s hard to say. Statistically, she has about a 50% chance of making a full recovery at this stage. A lot depends on how her body responds overnight.” The weight of those words settled on my chest like a boulder. Fifty-fifty. A coin toss. I felt my breath hitch, but I forced myself to stay composed. Ava needed me to be strong.

“Can we see her?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Of course,” Dr. Simmons said. “She’s in the ICU now. The nurses will let you in shortly, but only two at a time.” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as he excused himself. The moment he was gone, the dam inside me broke.

I buried my face in my hands, hot tears spilling over as the reality of the situation crashed down on me. “I can’t lose her, Enzo,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I can’t. She’s my whole world.” Enzo shifted closer, his hand resting firmly on my shoulder. “We’re not going to lose her, Summer,” he said, his tone steady despite the tightness in his voice. “Ava is strong. Stronger than we give her credit for.”

“She’s just a little girl,” I choked out, wiping at my face. “She shouldn’t have to fight this hard just to live.” Enzo’s hand slid down to clasp mine, his grip solid and grounding. “I know,” he said softly. “But she’s not fighting alone. She has us, and she has everyone who loves her.”

The nurse arrived shortly after to escort us to Ava’s room. The sight of her small body surrounded by machines and tubes hit me like a punch to the gut. Her face was pale, her little chest rising and falling with the help of a ventilator. Bunny was tucked under her arm, a faint reminder of the bright, spirited girl she was just days ago. I stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move until Enzo gently guided me forward.

“She’s in good hands,” the nurse said reassuringly before leaving us alone. I pulled up a chair beside Ava’s bed, my fingers trembling as I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Hi, baby,” I whispered, my tears threatening to spill again. “Mommy’s here.”

Enzo stood on the other side of the bed, his hand resting lightly on Ava’s leg. “We’re both here,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “You just keep fighting, okay? We’ve got you.”

The hours stretched endlessly. Elaine and Richard arrived to take their turns sitting with Ava, giving Enzo and me a chance to step out briefly. Messages of support continued to flood in—texts, emails, and social media posts from friends, colleagues, and even strangers who’d read about Ava’s journey. Each one was a bittersweet reminder of how much Ava was loved and how many people were rooting for her.

“Did you see this?” Elaine said softly, holding up her phone to show me a post from a local business offering to host a fundraiser for Ava’s ongoing care. I nodded, my throat too tight to respond. It was overwhelming to see so much kindness when all I could focus on was the terrifying uncertainty ahead.

Later that evening, after Elaine and Richard had gone home, Enzo and I sat together in the small family lounge down the hall. The sterile fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the room, and the hum of the vending machine filled the silence.

“You’ve been quiet,” I said, breaking the stillness. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I hate this, Summer,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “I hate that I can’t do anything to help her. I’ve spent my whole career fixing things, finding solutions, and now all I can do is wait.”

His words hit me hard. Enzo had always been the one who stayed calm under pressure, the one who found answers when no one else could. Seeing him like this—vulnerable and full of doubt—made my chest ache. “You are helping her,” I said gently,reaching for his hand. “Just by being here, by being her dad. That means everything.”

He looked at me then, his dark eyes filled with a mix of frustration and gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said softly. “You’ve been so strong through all of this.” I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “I’m only strong because I have to be. For Ava. For you.”

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