Page 68 of Because of Them

“Much better …”

I don’t care. I pause at each babies’ bed before I follow her. Resting my hand on each of their tiny bodies in turn. “I’ll be back soon, I promise. I will never let you down.”

AUDREY

Agentle hum fills the room, coaxing me awake, but I fight against the reflex to open my eyes. My head hurts. My body aches all over. My stomach feels light. No, numb. And there is a very odd sensation between my legs.

I try to turn over, but my body refuses to cooperate. A groan escapes my lips and I keep my eyes shut, trying to pretend I’m not awake.

Everything is wrong.

The sound of shuffled footsteps and whispers reverberate through my ears. So quiet, yet so loud. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, inadvertently forcing a tear to escape down my cheek, and turn my head away from the noise. Away from the square of bright light in the otherwise dim room.

Then a sob, from right beside me. A sound I’ve never heard but would know anywhere. Michael. He came back. And he is sobbing, holding my hand, head bowed so low over my arm I can feel his hair tumble over my chest.

“I’m okay,” I choke out. My throat burns and the words croak. And then through the foggy haze that is my brain, I remember. “The babies?”

“They’re okay. I just … I had to feed them. They are tiny, but they are okay. Some oxygen, some lights, but they fed and Sarah said that’s a really good sign. They’re okay.”

I don’t know who Sarah is or why she has met my babies before me. I groan, part from the pain that is starting to swell through me and part because it’s allwrong.

Because it was too early, because my babies aren’t by my side, because I can’t even remember them being born. And because when I needed him by my side, Michael was gone. I flinch my arm away from his touch. I can’t deal with this right now. I need my babies.

I sense movement in front of me, and open my eyes to see a woman in pink scrubs reading the chart next to my bed. She examines the bag of fluid still—gulp—connected to my wrist.

“How are you feeling, Audrey?”

What a stupid question. I don’t answer. Instead I moan, squeezing my eyes shut again, curling into myself and pulling the flimsy blanket up towards my neck.

“Fair. Can I check your blood pressure?”

I open my eyes to find her staring down at me with a gentle smile. The dark blue cuff in her hands. I dip my chin and remove one arm from the nest I’ve created.

She fastens the velcro strap and as it tightens on my arm I feel a firm squeeze in my chest. I’m still hyper aware of what’s missing, of everything that has gone wrong.

“Where are they?”

“They’re in the NICU. I can take you there as soon as we get a strong read on all your vitals. You gave us all a bit of a scare, Audrey.”

“I don’t care about me, I need to see them.”

The blood pressure cuff loosens rapidly and my arm tingles at the changing sensation. Removing the machine, the midwife allows her hand to linger on my arm. To my other side, I register the feeling of firm fingers trying to loop themselves through mine. I jerk my arm back and slink my hand under the covers. He doesn’t get to pick and choose when he wants to be with me.

“You should be with them.” I hiss the words over my shoulder, not fully turning to face him. His gentle breathing by my side screeches in my ears. It’s loud and obnoxious and it shouldn’t be, but it is. The two sides of my brain battle it out, knowing that he was with the babies and I cannot fault him for that, but at the same time feeling unwanted, uncared for, betrayed. He wasn’t there when I needed him, and okay he had two tiny, but incredibly valid reasons, buthe wasn’t there.Now it feels like he made his choice, he should stick with it. It might even be easier that way. He withdraws his hand from my side, taking a step back until the cold air whisks between us.

Typing away at her tablet, the midwife turns to me. Sorrow lines her eyes despite the gentle upturn of her lips. “I’ll take you to them soon, but your blood pressure is still really low. We need to let your body recoup a little bit longer before we try to sit you up and move you about. I’m going to add another dose of pain medication to your bag and then we will see how you feel.”

My chest cracks, another giant wound to match the one across my belly.

“They’re sleeping right now.” Michael’s voice is tender and breathy. He fights to hold in a yawn but I hear the deep exhale that pushes out against his will.

“Why don’t you get a little more rest, and when they wake, we can see about getting you down there in a wheelchair?”

As the midwife leaves, Michael settles into the chair in the corner of the small room. “Do you want some light?”

“No.” It could be the middle of the night, for all I know. Hours passed like minutes in the delivery room, and then I slept for all that time.

“What do—”

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