Page 66 of Breathing Wisteria
Flynn
Ten Years Later
The room is quiet, depressingly quiet, and completely in opposition to what I know must be going on through the swinging doors to our right, and down that long, seemingly never-ending, corridor.
I shift uncomfortably on the hard, plastic chair, my knee bouncing nervously.
“Stop.”
Wyatt’s warm hand lands on my knee, squeezing gently and forcing my leg to still.
“It’s okay, Irish. We’re nearly there, it’s nearly over.” Her small smile is nervous, and I know she’s as anxious as I am. Reaching over, I take hold of her face and bring it to meet mine in a kiss that settles us both. Leaning her head against my own, she sighs deeply.
The elevator to our left pings open and an older couple exits, walking excitedly past us, a giant bouquet dominated by purple shades of wisteria in the man’s hands. They head down the hallway, guided by the signs on the wall, as memories of my wife sobbing alone, mourning the loss of our daughter crowd out the excitement from my mind, filling it with anxiety.
I don’t get nervous often. I can only think of two occasions. The first, twenty years ago when we stood in a tiny chapel getting ready to commit to each other for the rest of our lives. I was sure she would come to her senses and make a run for it and I was ready to chase.
The second was ten years ago when I thought I was going to lose her again.
Right here, right now I am just as fearful. This moment has been years in the making. We’ve struggled through the lowest of the lows to get here but we made it, together, and today we finally get to experience the highest of the highs.
If only we can make it through the next few hours.
Wyatt’s phone goes off for the millionth time drawing a groan of frustration.
“I wish we had something to tell them.”
“Shut it off. They can suffer update-free just like w—”
I’m cut off by the sound of the doors swinging open and a nurse strides out, heading straight for us. Wyatt jumps up, but I can’t seem to make my legs work, so I remain sitting, my chest tightening while I wait for the news.
“Mr. and Mrs. Maguire?”
“Yes, that’s us. Is it over?” Wyatt trips over her words, anxious to be soothed by this stranger.
“It is. Congratulations, guys, it’s a girl. You have a daughter.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes me and I slump forward, elbows on knees, face in hands.
Wyatt rushes the woman, squealing excitedly and wraps her up in a hug much to the amusement of the seasoned nurse.
Abruptly pulling back, Wyatt sobers. “And, Sammi? She’s okay? She hasn’t—” She chokes up, because we’ve been here before. So close to completing our family, only to have it ripped right out from under us.
The woman, whose name tag reads Heather, smiles warmly at us.
“Sammi is fine, she’s been taken to recovery and she’ll be ready to go home in a day or two. She’s already said her goodbye to the baby and asked me to tell you one thing.”
I find my feet and surge up, wrapping Wyatt in my arms protectively and I feel her tense under me.
“What did she want to tell us?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“She wanted you to know that she’s so happy she chose you.”
Rivulets of tears slide along Wyatt’s cheeks and I pull her in to me, her face nuzzling my neck as years of fear and frustration finally seep out.
“When can we see her?” I rasp out.
“It shouldn’t be too long, how about you go and tell all your friends and family the good news and by the time you’re done, your daughter should be waiting for you.”
