Page 22 of The Refiner

“I—”

“Dr. Potter.” Carly, another nurse I recognize, appears at the door, placing a hand on the shoulder of the other nurse. “I’ve got this one, Tiff. The Connors’ baby in Pod B is ready for his feeding.”

Tiff looks between the new nurse and me. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, Dr. Potter.”

I won’t, but I thank her anyway. Carly offers me a sad smile when she’s behind the glass doors. “Would you like to see your daughter, Astor?”

No.

Yes.

My heart beats wildly—so hard that the violent pounding steals my breath. “I don’t know.”

Carly nods her head like she understands my uncertainty.

But she doesn’t.

No one but Piper could understand what this moment does to me.

“Why don’t I bring her to the glass? Then, when you’re ready, you can come in and hold your daughter.”

“Is she okay?”

Carly nods, a big smile on her face. “She’s doing great. Just a little fluid in her lungs that we’re watching. I’m hoping she can be discharged to the regular nursery sometime tomorrow.”

An ache spreads across my chest, my eyes burning.You did good, Piper. You kept her healthy.

“Dr. Potter? Did you hear me?”

I blink a few times and refocus. “No, I’m sorry. Would you mind repeating?”

Carly offers me a sympathetic smile as she places her hand on my shoulder. “I asked if I could call someone for you? Maybe Vance or Duke?”

I shake my head. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

I understand Carly’s concern. The birth of my daughter came with a price—the death of my friend. Something I don’t seem to be handling well, given the reactions I keep getting.

“Okay.” She sighs but knows better than to push me. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll bring your little girl to the viewing window.”

I don’t even thank her. I don’t even see her disappear back behind the door.

All I can do is breathe while I focus on the empty spot behind the large window, where Carly reappears moments later, pushing a plastic bassinet.

Breathing becomes difficult. I can’t manage to pull in air as I stare at the small body inside. Wires are connected to her chest and heel as she kicks her feet, crying, a sound I can’t hear from the hallway. Everything about her is tiny perfection.

I’ve seen babies before.

I’ve counted toes and played peek-a-boo.

But I’ve never done those things to a child that was mine.

Those ten tiny toes I helped create.

Those strong lungs supplying her cries were formed in her mother. A mother that loved her enough to wait on me. A mother that will never see what we created.

Carly pushes the bassinet up against the wall.

My throat bobs, and I try swallowing around the lump as she reaches inside the bassinet.

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