I shake my head. “I need to do this alone.”
Another tear falls from my eyes, and I wipe it away. I have to be strong. I pull myself to my feet and turn away from my family. I hear my mama’s cries, but I need to see my little girl just this once.
We enter a small room with a rocking chair in the corner. The doctor leads me there and talks a little, but I honestly don’t know what she says. I can’t focus on anything other than the pain in my heart.
Then I think about Angie. I can’t lose her too. I won’t survive it.
A few minutes later, a nurse and another doctor enter. “Mr. Hennington,” she says softly. “We can give you some time, but I want to make sure you understand.” I try to focus. “Your daughter is very small. She was only a little over one pound. We’ll be outside if you need anything, okay?”
“Do you know anything more about Angie?”
“She’s out of surgery and in recovery. We don’t know when she’ll wake up, but I’ll come find you as soon as she’s stable enough for visitors.”
“Thank you.” I wipe another tear.
“Of course.” She squeezes my hand.
The nurse wheels in one of those plastic basin things where my daughter lies. They’ve wrapped the baby in a blanket and hand her to me.
The minute she’s in my arms, I lose it. Tears fall, and I shake with sobs. “I’m so sorry, Faith.”
I know she’s tiny and fragile, but I want to hold her close. I want to pump life into her. The grief is overwhelming. I’m her Dad. I was her Dad. This shouldn’t be how I held her for the first time. It should’ve been a happy moment that was filled with smiles and tears of joy.
Not tears of sadness.
“I’m so sorry.” I cry harder. She’s beautiful, even now. How could she not be? “I love you so much. Your mama does, too. I should’ve—” My lungs ache as I try to speak. “I should’ve protected you.” I rock back and forth with an angel in my arms. “I should’ve saved you, baby girl. This shouldn’t be how we met.”
I take her in. I study every line and angle on her tiny little body. She fits in the palm of my hand. My little girl. Gone to heaven.
While my other angel fights for her life.
I’ve failed them both.
Angie
THERE’S PRESSURE ON MY HANDS and a steady beeping behind me. The first thing that comes to my mind is pain. I’m in so much pain. My entire body feels sore and achy. But that’s nothing compared to my head. It’s throbbing, and I can feel the blood pounding against my skull.
Then I remember.
The deer.
The tumbling.
The unbelievable pain as my head slammed against the glass, the dash, the airbag.
Wyatt calling my name as the fog crept over me.
The fear.
Then the blackness.
“Wyatt,” I croak while trying to move my hand. Agony sears through my veins from the smallest movement. “Wyatt?” I try again, not sure if any sound is coming out.
I hear someone move. “Angie?” A sigh. “Baby—” Wyatt’s voice cracks, and I try to open my eyes to find him.
Our baby. I feel hollow and confused. I don’t know what’s going on. Fear fills the emptiness, and I need to know what happened. Am I okay? Is the baby okay? Is Wyatt okay?
My eyelids won’t move, so I use every ounce of strength I have to push them open. The light blinds me, but I hold them steady. “The baby?”
He moves to the side and presses a button. “Relax, okay? Are you in pain?”
I glance at my stomach, which is flat. “Where is she?”
My eyes close as the panic and pain become too much. I try to curl into myself, ball up and block out whatever truth he’s going to give me. Before I can muscle through the pain in my body, his hand is on my shoulder. “Please, don’t hurt yourself.”
I force myself to look at him again. “Is she okay?”
His brown eyes fill with tears, and his lips tremble for a second before they mash together. “I . . .” A tear falls. “They tried.”
Oh, God. My breathing accelerates as the monitor beeps louder, faster. I can’t breathe. He has to be lying. She can’t be gone.
“No!” My heart ceases to exist, that beeping is a lie. “No!” I cry again as Wyatt takes my hand. The pounding in my head intensifies. “She can’t . . .” I hiccup.
“They tried so hard, Ang. They did everything they could,” he explains.
“She was so strong.” Tears fall. They come down like rain as the realization that I lost my baby settles deep inside me. I’m alive, he’s alive, and she’s not.
“Baby.” He takes my face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Angie. I’m so sorry. I begged them to save her. I begged God to take me and let you keep her. I would’ve done anything.”