I turn to walk away but stop short at the doorway. “Just know that I only wanted to spare you pain. I swear I never meant to hurt you, I-”
I have to jump back to avoid being hit by the door. She slams it in my face.
Chapter 28
Bree
My mind is spinning so fast it hurts.
Everything hurts.
My head is pounding. My heart is racing. The sharp spike of adrenaline is coursing through my veins. Even the baby is upset. She’s thrashing around like she wants out, there’s so much pressure.
I try to breathe. I try to calm down, but I’m overwhelmed. My thoughts aren’t straight, I’m not…
I snatch the letter off the desk and rip open the envelope. I have to know what is says. My hands shake as I unfold the letter, my stomach squeezing uncomfortably.
Dear Bree,
So, if you’re reading this I’m dead. That sucks. But I have a lot of I’m sorries that I owe you and they’ve been keeping me up at night so I decided to write them down, just in case I don’t get to say them in person. So here goes. I’m sorry number one. I’m sorry I’ve been such a righteous dick for the past year. You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve any of it and you have every right to want to divorce me. I’ve been way more difficult than I should have been about all of this. I know it’s not your fault we lost Jackson, and how I reacted is one hundred percent on me. It wasn’t your fault. IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT, BREE. Okay? Let’s just clear that up right now. Number two. I’m sorry I cheated on you. It wasn’t fair to let you grieve alone, while I grieved by self-destructing. I know we didn’t have a traditional marriage, we didn’t get married because we were so in love or soul mates or any of that shit, we both know that. But we were still married, we still made vows, and that has to count for something. The lack of love in our relationship gave me no right to cheat on you, so I’m sorry. And that one leads me to I’m sorry number three. I’m sorry I married you. Now don’t go and get all pissed off, let me finish. I’m sorry I married you for the wrong reasons when I knew good and damn well that we wouldn’t be good together. We had a lot of fun Bree, and you were one of my best friends. But we both knew it wasn’t there. It was way too easy to get swept up in the idea of a family, and I should have come up with a better alternative for us. I should have called what we were both thinking, and for that I’m sorry. Lastly, I’m sorry I got myself killed. I’m not safe out here, not at all. My bunkmate Sam is always yelling at me. Telling me I need to get back to my wife safely. I want you to know I’m not trying to die, but I’m also not trying to live. I never knew how to tell you Bree, but I’ve been depressed a long time. The only thing that ever really made me feel alive was the service. I thrive in this environment. And when we lost the baby, it became the only thing I cared about. So I’m sorry that I volunteered myself onto this mission and died before I could tell you all of this in person. I made a big mess of our lives, of YOUR life. And now I’m not going to be there to help you pick up the pieces. But Sam will be. You see, I know about Sam, I know you love him. I know he loves you. I followed you that night we got into it, I watched you run to him. I watched the way you looked at him, cried in his arms. I realized then and there that you deserved that. You deserved to be loved like that, and I know Sam will do it. He doesn’t know I know. Hell, I think he just found out the other night that I was the asshole you were married to when he walked in on our video chat. I guess I’ll tell him if it looks like I’m going to die, so he can give this letter to you. Anyway, I’m just really sorry Bree. You are worth so much more than I’ve given you. I hope one day you can forgive me for that. Please let yourself be happy, let yourself have the love you deserve.
Love,
Ryan.
I’m gasping by the time I’ve finished the letter. Tears are burning my eyes from his words, but the pain in my torso has only gotten worse. My stomach is squeezing tightly.
Sam knew Ryan. All of this time, for over a year he knew. For over a year he had this letter tucked away, hidden from me. The closure I needed ever since Ryan died was hidden from me.
My hands are trembling. Rage like I’ve never felt for Sam before, is coursing through me, so wild it makes me nauseous.
How could he keep this from me?
Why, why did he not hand me this letter the second I walked into his kitchen two years ago? How can the most selfless, humble man I know be so selfish?
I sink to the floor because my legs will no longer hold me. I’m dizzy as everything I thought I knew about my life, everything I hoped for with Sam and our baby, crumbles around me.
I thought I knew heartbreak. I thought to have a miscarriage was heartbreak. I thought watching my marriage shatter because of it was heartbreak. I thought becoming a widow was heartbreak. But this? Finding out that the first man I’ve ever put blind faith in, the first man I’ve trusted with not only my life but the mangled pieces of my heart, that that man is a liar? To have my heart so filled up, so content, so damn peaceful, after all that I’ve been through, just to have it all ripped away? This is true heartbreak.
It steals my breath and breaks my soul.
I look around suddenly, needing to get out of this home I’ve built with a liar. I move to stand up and my stomach squeezes so tight I gasp, bracing myself on the wall. It’s the same squeezing pressure I felt ten minutes ago and I gasp again as I realize I could be going into labor. I look at the clock on the desk and wait. Almost exactly ten minutes later, another contraction hits. My breath quickens as raw panic overcomes me. I open my mouth to yell for Sam but then bite my lip. I can’t call for Sam, I want to. But I can’t.
How can he still be the first person I want in a moment of panic when he’s the one who broke my heart?
“Pull yourself together,” I growl to myself. I shake my head quickly, clearing it of all the melodrama I can.
I look back at the clock. I have eight minutes. It only takes me five to get my old house. Elle and Mads can drive me to the hospital if I really am in labor. This could just be Braxton Hicks contractions, I don’t need to panic.
“Don’t panic,” I urge myself in a firm tone.
I walk out of the office slowly, the pain in my lower back is more intense than usual but I can’t think about that right now. I ease myself down the stairs and wobble into the kitchen. I yank open drawer after drawer looking for the keys. Where did I leave my freaking keys?
Another contraction hit and this one is so strong I double over. “Sam!”
My broken heart betrays all logic. I may hate him right now, but I need him more.
He runs into the kitchen, his face taunt with worry. “What is it, are you okay?”
He rushes to me as I straighten up, using the countertop as support.
“I think I’m having Braxton hicks, but they hurt so bad.” I gasp. “I mean, she hasn’t even moved until today, there’s no way I could be going into-”
I swallow my words with a whimper.
My water just broke.
Chapter 29
Sam
Aubree’s in labor.
I refuse to acknowledge the deadly anxiety simmering in my stomach. I refuse to panic. Instead, I snap into action.
“Okay, take a deep breath,” I instruct her, guiding her over to a kitchen chair. “I’m going to grab our bags and some clean clothes for you, okay?”
She nods feverishly, but the way she looks at me makes my blood turn cold. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t trust me, like she isn’t sure she wants me here.
It. Kills. me.
I swallow my hurt, I know I have no right to feel this way. I just turned her world upside down with my careless omission of truth.
With my lie.
All for what? So I wouldn’t hurt her? So I wouldn’t lose her?
From the look on her face, both of those things have already happened.
I sprint up the stairs and grab the bags by the dresser that have been packed and ready for weeks. We hoped we wouldn’t need them this soon. I
go to the closet and yank a dress off the hanger, figuring it will be easy to change into and then back out of when we get to the hospital.
She’s on the phone when I make it back downstairs. She says goodbye to whoever it is and hangs up as I approach. She doesn’t look at me as she takes the clean dress from me and slips out of the one she’s in.
I stare at a spot on the tiled floor feeling helpless. I want to reach for her, or at least help her change, but she’s hidden away behind a wall I’ll never be able to climb. The look in her eyes tells me that much.
She stands on weak legs and begins towards the back door. Elle and Maddie walk in just as she reaches it. Elle eyes me carefully while Maddie ushers Aubree to the car waiting outside.
I just stand there frozen. Why did she call them? Does she not want me there?
“Come on, you drive,” Elle says in a controlled voice.
“Did she tell you-”
“Yes.” She closes her eyes and sighs. “We’ll fix it later. Come on.”
I’ve never felt so small in front of my sister before. I’ve let her and Maddie down, too.
We get in the car and I break every law on the road on the way to the hospital. I call Dr. Ferrante on the way to let her know what is going on. She tells me she’s on call and will meet us at the entrance. Aubree’s contractions are coming closer and closer together, each one more painful from the sound of her moans.
When we arrive, Dr. Ferrante is waiting out front with a nurse and a wheelchair. Everything is happening all at once yet in slow motion. I get Bree into the chair and give Elle the keys to go park. Maddie grabs our bags and follows us inside. Dr. Ferrante puts her hand on Aubree’s stomach and I can see her lips moving in a silent prayer.
I close my eyes and beg God to save my family.
“How close together are the contractions?” Dr. Ferrante asks me as Bree throws her head back in pain, suppressing a scream.
“Five minutes,” I swallow my fear and try to think of her as any other patient. “Mild back pain and complaints of pressure but nothing that suggested contractions. She thought maybe Braxton Hicks but then her water broke.”
“That’s not uncommon,” Dr. Ferrante nods as she holds the door open to a room.“Labor contractions can feel mild or non-existent at first, especially this early and with her condition. Sometimes they don’t progress to full on labor pains until the water breaks.”
“Don’t think there was anything that you could have done differently.” She smiles at Bree reassuringly as the nurse helps her into the bed and starts hooking her up to monitors. “I’m just going to check your cerclage, it needs to come out before the baby tears through it.”
My stomach sinks as a shadow of fear washes over me. The cerclage is what was put in place to keep Aubree from going into labor too soon. It strengthens the cervix so it doesn’t shorten or dilate as the baby grows. It’s a common and a fairly risk-free solution to Bree’s condition. It’s typically removed at 30 weeks, which is what we had planned on. The risk comes if the baby tears through the cerclage. The damage that would cause could be fatal.
I stand by Aubree’s side as she lies back and lets Dr. Ferrante examine her. I take her hand on instinct. She tenses, from me or the exam, I don’t know. But when I move to pull my hand away, she squeezes it for dear life.
I blow out a breath in relief, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and kissing the side of her head. Another contraction comes and she buries her face in my shoulder to muffle her scream. “It’s okay,” I murmur, rubbing her back. “You’re doing fine.”
As the contraction ends, Dr. Ferrante turns to her nurse. “I need an OR prepped for an emergency C section. Now.”
Aubree’s fear-filled eyes meet mine. She’s panting from the lingering pain, the panic I feel rising in my chest mirrored in her eyes.
Dr. Ferrante stands and looks me in the eye, “The baby has torn through the cerclage. We have to get her out and try to repair the damage done to the cervix as quickly as possible.”
“Sam, I’m so scared,” Bree shudders, clinging to me.
“It’s okay,” I take her face in my hands. “You are going to be fine, everything is going to be fine.”
Everything is going to be fine.
I repeat it over and over to her; As they come in and prep her; Everything is going to be fine. As they wheel her down the hall; Everything is going to be fine. I kiss her forehead before they wheel her beyond my reach; Everything is going to be fine. I watch her disappear through the doors to the OR, the doctor inside of me knows how much trouble she’s really in, how much danger her and our baby’s life is in.
What if this is the last time I ever see her? What if things are left shattered and she’s gone before we can put the pieces back together?
Everything is going to be fine.
Everything is going to be fine.
Everything is going to be fine.
***
The time passes in a languid haze. I can’t fully focus on any one thing at a time, my mind keeps buzzing from one hopeless fear to the next. My thoughts are a series of possibilities, what could be happening in that operating room. All the different ways this could pan out, all the different risks that Aubree and the baby both face. Just as my thoughts touch on one terrifying possibility, they move onto another, scarier still.
I’ve never felt more helpless in my entire life.
I pace back and forth before the doors to the operating room. I listen on baited breath for something, anything. The beep of monitors, the shout of voices, the cry of our daughter. I wait and I wait and I listen and I listen, but I don’t hear a thing.
As the time creeps by I begin to touch on the possibility that our daughter didn’t make it. That she was breached, or too weak, or her vitals too low. I sink into a desperation that consumes every part of my soul as I realize the true possibility that I may never get to hold my daughter. That I will never see her smile up at me. Never hear her cry, never get the chance to fight for her.
Silent hands clutch my throat as the anxiety peaks. I draw in deep breaths to calm myself but it feels like I’m breathing through a straw. I slump against the wall and sink like an anchor to the cold, hard floor. I close my eyes and pray, God please let me see my daughter. Please save them, PLEASE.
Like a clap of thunder, the doors to the OR burst open, a nurse busting out with a bundle in her arms.
“On your feet dad, we gotta get your baby girl to the NICU.”
I’m up and in front of her before she’s taken a step. The nurse smiles warmly as she places Arabella in my arms.
She’s the smallest, most breathtaking thing I’ve ever seen. Her entire body is barely larger than one of my hands. Her arm is a long as my finger. Her eyes open for a split second, they are the exact color of her mother’s. She has Bree’s lips too, but her nose is mine. She’s slightly blue, you can see every vein in her tiny body through her translucent skin. She has no hair or eyelashes.
“What are her vitals like?” I ask, the nurse.
“Low, we need to move. Hold her close and walk fast.” She says leading me down to the NICU. “She’s not out of the woods just yet, but the steroids we had Mama on during pregnancy did their job. She has pretty good lung development and she’s bigger than she would have been otherwise. Three pounds. What concerns me is her heart rate, it’s very low.”
“And Aubree?” I ask, fearfully.
She looks at me, her face somber. But she doesn’t get the chance to respond.
The doors behind us burst open, doctors and nurses all surrounding Bree as they rush her down the hall, unconscious.
“Patient is coding!” I hear Dr. Ferrante yell. “She’s in hypovolemic shock, get me a blood transfusion.”
I stop dead in my tracks and watch them rush her towards the lab for the transfusion. My eyes flicker between her retreating form, lifeless on the bed, to our daughter. I feel split in two. I don’t know who needs me more, who I am able to help, what the hell I should do.
The nurse beside me gently places her hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do for her now, but you can help me stabilize your baby girl.”
I nod, taking off back down the hall as fast as my legs will take me. I focus every ounce of attention that I have on Arabella. After we check her vitals, we have to place her in an open box incubator to keep her temperature stable. She’s not breathing well on her own so we place her on oxygen. I stay and monitor her, but her heart rate is staying low.
It’s truly terrifying seeing her like this. Her tiny arms are stuck with tubes, her nose and mouth covered in an oxygen mask. She looks like she could shatter to pieces at the slightest touch. But I know her mother’s defiant spirit is in her. I know she has more strength in her tiny little pinky than I have in my entire body.
After a while, Elle and Maddie come into the NICU to check on us.
They come to sit beside me at the side of Arabella’s incubator, both smiling with tears in their eyes.
“She’s beautiful, big brother.” Maddie sighs, laying her head on my shoulder.
“She looks just like Bree,” Elle lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
I notice they are both in their scrubs and I wonder how long I’ve been in here.
“Have you checked on Aubree?” I ask them, nervous.
“She’s stable,” Elle nods.
“We would have come sooner,” Maddie tells me, reaching out to place her hand gently over Arabella. “But we were assisting with Bree’s transfusion. She lost a lot of blood when her cerclage ripped.”
“Were they able to repair the damage done to her cervix?”
They exchange a look, and finally, Elle shakes her head. She places her hand over Maddie’s on Arabella’s tiny chest. “She’s your miracle baby, and the only one Bree will ever have.”
I blow out a heavy breath. The news doesn’t surprise me, Bree and I already discussed the fact that we would not be trying for any more children. We are both more than open to other possibilities, like adoption. But the toll that this took on her body is devastating. It’s a miracle she pulled through.
A Sea of Lies Page 17