Page 169 of Sebastian's Baby

He nods and leaves without saying anything. Lita wanders away from me, still crying, and I wish that I could make this better for her—for me—for us, but I can’t.

I can’t do this. I can’t cope with this pain I’m feeling. I can’t bear the future I’m facing. I wish I could go back to this morning when I was flying to Seattle, happy and excited—back before reality kicked in. I hate this.

Lita gives a keening wail from the direction of the bedrooms, and I rush to follow the sound of her pain. She’s on her knees in the room we picked out to use as a nursery and she looks utterly broken. My love for her overwhelms me, and I know that she needs me to be strong for her. I need to keep it together so she can fall apart.

I sit on the floor next to her and pull her into my lap. I hold Lita for a long time while she cries, and I wrap my arms around her to rest my hands on her baby bump, wanting to protect our little girl as well.

“It’s going to be okay, princess,” I whisper to Lita.

“You don’t know that, Sebastian. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” I acknowledge, because it really fucking isn’t.

I need to give her hope, though. I know what life is like without hope, and I don’t want that for Lita. She needs to have something to cling to. Some bright spark in the darkness of this moment.

So I tell her, “We have to hope for the best, though. The doctor said there are options, surgery if the tumor gets too big. If it grows at the same rate as the baby, she will be fine. We just need to wait and see.”

Lita wipes at the tears falling from her eyes. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

Time-Out

The referee may decide to grant “Time-Out”—a period when timing ceases if the referee deems it as warranted.

On occasion, a player will find circumstances that require them to take a break from the game. In these cases, a time-out may be granted where the focus of the player ceases to be on the game and may be elsewhere.

27

LEVEL 21.2 – Silenzio

I findLita seated at the dining table, eating her breakfast on Tuesday morning. She looks so beautiful and forlorn, and I hate that I can’t make everything better for her.

We have the echocardiogram today, and I’m doing my best to keep it together for her. She’s taken the week off work since our appointment and has spent a lot of her time Googling stories about fetal tumors. Every time she reads one to me, I’m filled with a sense of dread, but I think it helps her to read them out loud, so I let her do it.

I canceled my flight back to Chicago, and I have no idea when I’ll go back now because the thought of being away from Lita and our baby is terrifying.

“Morning, princess,” I greet her quietly, sure that she’ll be as stressed today as I am.

She looks up at me, her face full of concern before she forces a smile and says, “Hey, Seb.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m terrified. I just want her to be okay,” she murmurs, her voice cracking as she says it.

“I know. Me too.”

I walk over to her, pull her up to standing, and wrap my arms around her. I’m only wearing a pair of sweatpants, and her face is warm and soft against my bare chest. After a few seconds, her body starts shaking, and I realize she’s crying when I feel her wet tears on my skin.

I’ve been doing my best to be strong for her, but it’s been unbearably difficult. A couple of nights, I’ve cried in bed myself because the thought of our baby dying is too much to handle. When I’m lying alone in the dark, it’s all I can think of, though.

Lita hardly talks to me all day. She watches some baking show on Netflix, but she doesn’t laugh or seem interested. Instead, she just stares blankly at the screen until it asks if she’s still watching, and she confirms that she is.

I sit next to her when I’m feeling particularly bad, but I try to give her some space as well. When Ben gets us lunch, I take the sandwiches to Lita and sit next to her. I set her plate on the coffee table in front of her, and she just glances at it before looking back at the TV.

“Here you go.” I force a smile at her, and she doesn’t say anything in response.

I eat my own sandwich, but it’s tasteless, and by the time I’ve finished eating, Lita still hasn’t touched hers.

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