Page 168 of Sebastian's Baby

“Please tell us what’s wrong with our baby,” I demand.

Both Dr. Watson and Kim look at us. Their faces are solemn, giving nothing away, except that something is very, very wrong.

“Yes, come with me into my office, we’ll talk there,” Dr. Watson tells me.

“Is our baby going to die?” Lita moans, and her sobs increase.

The question rips my heart to shreds because I imagine how bad it will be if our little girl dies. I can barely cope with the thought alone.

“I’ll explain in a minute, Lita,” Dr. Watson says quietly.

That’s not a no.

Kim is wiping away the gel from Lita’s stomach, and I help her up from the bed. She’s still crying, so I put my arms around her and pull her into my embrace. I’m comforted by having her in my arms and I rest my cheek against her head. I want to keep her and our baby safe, but I can’t do anything about this, and it hurts so bad right now.

We follow Dr. Watson into her office and take seats across from her. Lita has my hand in a death grip again, but I think that I need it as much as she does. I’m dreading what the doctor is going to tell us, and a part of me is sure that I can’t possibly have something as good as our baby, so of course she’s going to die.

“Okay, as you have guessed, we’ve spotted an abnormality on the ultrasound. There are two things that are concerning to me, your baby’s heartbeat has some irregularities. Also, some of the measurements are giving us some cause for concern. Unfortunately, what I think we might be seeing is a fibroma, which is a tumor on the heart.”

I blink at her in shock and ask, “Our baby has cancer?”

“No. They’re usually benign tumors. They’re rarely cancerous and don’t spread, but it is very concerning. It can cause problems if the tumor grows faster than your baby. I’m going to send you for a fetal echocardiogram, which will be able to help us with a diagnosis.”

I take in what the doctor is saying, and I can’t tell if she thinks our baby is going to die or not. I’m guessing that it not being cancer is a good thing, but it still sounds terrible.

“What is the survival rate?” I ask.

Lita is quietly crying next to me, so I squeeze her hand before I stroke her skin with my thumb, taking comfort in the familiar action as I do.

“It will be a case of frequent monitoring to see how the tumor progresses in relation to the growth of your baby. There’s a range of treatment options a specialist will go through with you if it comes to that. I’m not positioned to be able to give you the best information. I’m very sorry.”

“I understand.” I get that they don’t want to take a guess and need more information, but I need answers now. I need to know that my baby will be okay. “When will we need to go for the next test?”

“I’ll call the referral through myself, and they should contact Lita for an appointment time. I’d expect it to be within a week, though. Once that’s done, you’ll discuss the next course of action with the pediatric cardiologist.”

By the end of the appointment, I am no less terrified for our baby girl. I hate that we can’t just have answers today. I feel sick at the thought of anything happening to her, and I am barely holding it together.

Lita hasn’t spoken a word since we entered Dr. Watson’s office. She just cries while I talk to the doctor about what will happen. Her hands are on her bump, and she rubs it protectively as she stares at the doctor with wide eyes full of tears.

Eventually, we thank Dr. Watson for her support and walk back out to the reception area in a somber mood. Ben meets us in the waiting area, and when he catches sight of us, he frowns before he quickly looks away.

Lita is still crying and continues to clutch my hand while I pay for her appointment. I put my arm around her and pull her against me as we leave the doctor’s office. The paparazzi were here when we went in, and there are still some hanging around. We head to the car, ignoring their usual questions about the nature of our relationship and what’s happening with our baby.

As I slide into the car after Lita, someone calls, “Why are you crying, Lita? Is something wrong with your baby?”

The ice in my veins melts and swiftly turns to fire. I turn to face them as Ben slams the door shut.

“Fuck off, you motherfucking cunt piece of shit!” I yell.

I move to get out of the door because I want to say it directly to his face and then rip the guy’s head off, but Ben stands on the other side of it, holding it shut. I glare at him, but he gives me a pitying look and a tiny shake of his head.

For a few moments, he bears the last of my anger, then I flop back into my seat, and it all hits me at once. The fear, the hurt, the certainty that I can never possibly have any kind of happy future. I drop my head to my hands and cry. I can’t handle this. It’s all too much, and I don’t want it to be happening. I want happiness, and I can’t have it. My baby is going to die.

Lita rubs my back, which is some small comfort, but it doesn’t truly help the terrible pain I’m feeling. I don’t think anything can. Everything is fucked.

I know we need to leave, so I wipe the tears from my face and sit up again. I put my seatbelt on before I put my arm around Lita and pull her into me, needing her touch right now. We travel to the apartment in silence, and I place my hand on her baby bump. Our baby is in there, and she has to be okay, because I will not fucking survive if she doesn’t.

“You can go home, Ben. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere tonight,” I tell him when we get to the apartment.

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