Chapter 5 - The Decision That Could Not Wait

Dr. Patel moved his chair close enough for Emma to see his face clearly. He explained that the team was concerned about severe preeclampsia, a pregnancy complication involving high blood pressure and signs that the body was under significant strain. Emma's tests and symptoms made continued observation alone less reassuring than they had hoped.

I heard the medical words without pretending to understand all of them. He described the options, the risks of waiting, and the possibility that delivery might become the safest course for Emma and the baby. Emma asked him to repeat one part about the baby's lungs.

He did, patiently.

I had spent months responding to her uncertainty with certainty of my own. In that room, certainty would have been dishonest.

"How early?" Emma asked.

"Earlier than we intended," he said. "Our neonatal team is ready to care for babies born at this stage. We want you involved in each decision, and we'll keep explaining what changes."

Emma nodded, looking down at her hands. I waited until she turned toward me.

"Are you frightened?" I asked.

She gave a short, exhausted laugh.

"Terrified."

I wanted to promise that there was nothing to fear. Instead I squeezed her hand gently and said, "So am I."

She looked at me with an expression I hadn't seen in months. Not forgiveness, or even relief. Surprise that I had allowed the frightening thing to remain frightening.

Dr. Patel asked whether Emma wanted me to stay for the rest of the conversation. She nodded. He explained that the medical team would continue treating her blood pressure and watching the baby's condition while preparing for an early delivery if needed.

After he left, the room became quiet again.

"I didn't know it could get this serious," I admitted.

"Neither did I," Emma said. "The doctor said she was concerned last week. She wanted another check. I kept thinking if the numbers settled down, everything could wait."

"Why didn't you tell me about the appointment?"

The question came out before I could stop it. Emma withdrew her hand, not in anger but as though she needed to make room for the answer.

"I tried to tell you I wasn't feeling right," she said. "Do you remember the night I said my head was hurting and asked you to sit with me?"

I remembered a laptop, a spreadsheet, and a message from work. I remembered saying I'd be finished in ten minutes.

I had not been finished in ten minutes.

"Yes," I whispered.

"You told me I could schedule an appointment with the best doctor in the city. I was already seeing a doctor. What I wanted was my husband."

I looked at the chair beside her bed. There had always been a chair somewhere I could have occupied. In our kitchen. In the living room. Beside the Christmas tree.

She kept speaking, slowly enough that I could have interrupted if I'd been the man I was a week earlier.

"I started keeping things to myself because every conversation turned into proof that we could afford whatever happened. Then I felt guilty for needing anything else."

"You shouldn't have had to do that."

"No," she said. "I shouldn't have."

I thought about the note. I had read it as a rejection. I was beginning to understand that it had been a request for distance from a pattern she no longer knew how to change.

"I wasn't leaving forever," Emma said. "At least, I hadn't decided that. I wanted a few days at Irene's. I was going to the appointment in the morning. I thought if I stayed, you'd ask me to forgive the evening, and I'd tell you it was fine just to stop the conversation."

I could picture it. I would have bought flowers. I would have apologized for staying too long with Rachel. Then I would have asked whether we could forget Christmas Eve and start fresh. Nothing would have changed because I would have wanted the argument finished more than I wanted it understood.

"You were right about what I would have asked," I said.

Emma's eyes filled, but she didn't look away.

"I didn't want to be right."

I sat with that until the nurse returned to check her blood pressure. Emma flinched slightly when the cuff tightened. I didn't watch the monitor as though I could force the numbers to improve by staring at them. I watched her face.

The nurse spoke to Emma first, explained the reading, and called the doctor to review a change. Nobody treated me as the person in charge merely because I was her husband. It was a relief I didn't yet know how to name.

While the team consulted, I stepped into the hall and called my office. My deputy answered almost immediately, even though it was Christmas. He began explaining a problem with one of our lenders.

"I can't handle it today," I said.

"It's important."

I looked through the glass at Emma, who was sitting very still while Nora adjusted her blanket.

"I understand. Give it to the partners. Don't contact me about the investment unless a decision legally requires me."

He hesitated. "For how long?"

"I don't know yet."

The answer frightened me in a different way. I had organized the last year of my life around making sure nothing important happened without my approval. Now I was choosing to let capable people do their jobs because my family needed me more than my company needed my constant attention.

I returned to the room. Emma noticed that my phone was face down in my coat pocket.

"Everything all right at work?" she asked.

"I don't know. I asked them to handle it."

"You never do that."

"I should have learned sooner."

Her gaze lingered on me, but she didn't answer.

A little later, Dr. Patel returned with a second obstetrician. The baby's monitoring had developed a pattern that made them unwilling to wait much longer. They recommended delivery that afternoon. Emma listened to the reasons, asked whether there were alternatives, and gave her consent after the team explained the likely need for a cesarean birth.

I didn't sign anything for her. I didn't tell the doctors to hurry or offer to pay for a different plan. When Emma asked me to listen to the explanation again with her, I did.

Finally, she turned toward me.

"Will you stay until they take me in?"

"Yes."

I stopped, remembering how easily I had once made promises. Then I added, "And if you want me there afterward, I'll be there. If you don't, I'll respect that too."

Emma nodded.

The nurses began preparing her. A small team spoke about operating rooms, medicines, and the neonatal specialists who would be waiting. The day had narrowed to a series of careful decisions made around the bed.

When they wheeled Emma toward the doors, she reached for my hand one more time.

"I'm not ready," she whispered.

"I know."

"Neither is our baby."

My throat tightened.

May you like

[COMPLETED] “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DRESS! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD SEAM...

[COMPLETED] At the Mafia Boss's Engagement Party, I Served His Hungry So...

[COMPLETED] The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Tried to Dismiss His Father’s Loyal...

"Then we'll meet the next hour together."

For once, I didn't ask Emma to believe that everything would be fine. I walked beside her until the team told me where to stop, and watched the doors close with the knowledge that I could not purchase, negotiate, or promise away what happened next.