Why doesn’t he understand? If I could go in there and do it myself, I would, but they won’t let me in there. They say I have to stay out here because I might have germs.
“All right, Cohen . . . Let me see what I can do.” He waves over the nice nurse lady who always smiles at me. I can’t hear what they say when she steps out of the room my girls are in, but I really don’t like her funny face.
I want to yell when Daddy hands her my cape, but I keep quiet and watch her walk back into the room. I can see my girls sleeping in the same box. I hate them in that glass box.
He picks me up and holds me high so that I can see in the room a little better. I keep watching as the nurse weaves through the stuff in her way until she reaches my girls.
The nurse looks over and smiles at us again. I hold my breath when she takes my cape and lays it across my girls’ glass box. She smiles again, waves, and gives me a thumbs up.
I look over at Daddy. His face looks funny again, but this time his eyes are wet. That’s okay; I won’t tell anyone that he cried. I smile again because this time I know that everything is going to be just perfect.
CHAPTER 15
Melissa
Soft singing pulls me from my dreams—that beautiful, deep baritone I’ve heard in my dreams for what seems like ages. The feeling of love drips from each word, instantly warming my soul and easing my mind.
It takes me a few minutes to understand where I am and why I hear my husband singing to me about going to the ends of the earth, and it makes me feel his love. Why my eyelids feel as if they weigh a hundred pound each, my body is sluggish to my commands, and almost every inch of my body hums with pain.
I briefly remember opening my eyes earlier and seeing Greg in a hospital room. It’s hazy, but I remember him, Cohen, and Maddox standing right inside the doorway . . . and then nothing else.
In those minutes, I noticed one thing with stark clarity. I didn’t feel my babies. The pressure and dull pain I had become accustom to over the course of my pregnancy, the rolling of their bodies, the jabs and kicks—all of it was gone. I can feel my panic starting to peak, knowing that there is something gravely wrong if my babies aren’t here.
Oh, God!
In little flashes, like a projector playing slides of my last moments of consciousness, I remember.
Cohen being Cohen, making me laugh with his innocence and wonky train of thought. Looking up in the mirror to meet his smiling eyes. Driving through the green light and that terrible sound of horns and colliding metal. Screams from my boy and his sobbing voice telling me he loves me.
Then it all fades to black.
Cohen! My sweet boy! Where is my sweet boy?
Oh, God . . . My girls. It’s too early for them to be out. They still need time!
My ribs burn when my panic starts to escalate. I hear beeping speed up, and those words that were singing earlier stop abruptly.
Then I feel him.
His hands hold my head between them, his warm breath fanning across my face when he speaks, calming me instantly.
“Beauty, my sweet Beauty, calm yourself. Everything is going to be fine. Everything and everyone . . . You’re all safe, my love.” His lips press against mine for a second before he’s gone.
I try to open my eyes, but they burn. I try to speak, but my throat feels like I’ve been eating dirt and glass. I try to move my arm, but it drops worthlessly.
“Shh. Let the nurse look at you, and I’ll be right here,” I hear Greg say from far away, his voice reassuring but thick with emotion.
I slow my breathing and try to calm down my body. He said that everyone is fine. He wouldn’t have said that if something had happened to our children.
But where are they?
Movement continues around me. My body is poked and moved around. I painfully answer all of her questions and try to remain calm until I feel my husband’s hands on my skin again.
I need him.
I need his touch.
And I need his love.
It feels like an eternity, but it’s probably only ten minutes before I am given some small sips of water and moved to a more comfortable position. My vision is still blurry, but I can see him. The second I see his face, that perfectly handsome face I love so much, I feel a sob bubble out. It hurts—oh it hurts more than I could have fathomed. Not just my screaming ribs, but low on my abdomen, the muscles feel unused and pulled tight.
I see his smile, and even with the tears running silently down his face, that smile never dims. I can tell that he hasn’t slept—his eyes look tired, rimmed red, and swollen. His clothing is wrinkled and stained. He looks . . . terrible, and it’s the most incredible sight I’ve ever seen.
“You look like crap,” I rasp, smiling up at him as he walks over to the side of my bed.