Tyson
Lake's name on my phone screen at 2:37 AM sent ice through my veins. "Tyson."
Her voice was clipped, professional. The voice she used when she was barely
holding back rage. "Brook's in labor. St. Mary's Hospital. You need to get here."
"I'm on my way. Is she—is the baby—" "Just get here." She hung up. I was in my
truck before I'd fully processed her words, still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt
I'd fallen asle ep in on Asher's couch. My hands shook so badly I could barely get the
key in the ignition. Seven months. Sofia was only seven months . Too early. Way too
early. Please, God. Please let them be okay. The streets were empty, every red light
an eternity. I ran two of them. Didn't care. The only thing that mattered was getting
to Brook, to my daughter, to my family that I'd destroyed with my own stupidity.
This was my fault. The stress I'd put her through, the betrayal, the heartbreak—of
course her body couldn't take it. Of course something had gone wrong. I'd done
this. I'd hurt her so badly that now Sofia was coming too soon, and if anything
happened to either of them— I couldn't finish the thought. Couldn't breathe around
the terror closing my throat. Eight minutes later, I flew in. The hospital parking lot
was nearly empty. I abandoned my truck in the first spot I saw and ran for the
entrance, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might burst.
Lake was waiting just inside the automatic doors, her arms crossed, her expression
carved from stone. "Where is she? Is she okay? Is the baby—" "Brook is in labor,"
Lake said, her voice flat. "Sofia's coming early. The doctors are monitoring them
both." "I need to see her. I need to be with her." I moved toward the elevators, but
Lake st epped in front of me. "She doesn't want you in the delivery room." The
words hit like a physical blow. I actually staggered back a st ep. "What? No, I—I'm
her husband. I'm the baby's father. I need to be there. She needs me—" "She
doesn't want you there, Tyson." Lake's eyes were hard, unforgiving. "She made that
very clear. You don't get to be there for this. You hurt her, abandoned her and your
son, while she is carrying your child." She looked at me with disgust. “And let’s be
honest, if you were in there you would do more harm than good. You will stress her
more than you already have. She deserves peace.” "Lake, please." My voice
cracked. "Please, I know I fucked up, I know I don't deserve anything from her, but
this is our daughter. This is— she shouldn't be alone. She shouldn't have to go
through this alone." "She's not alone. I'm here. River and Lacey are on their way.
Letti and Mavis are coming. She has people who didn't abandon her when she
needed them most. This is about her and Sofia, not you and your wishy-washy pride.
This is about your wife, the mother of your children, the woman who has loved you
for years, without fail and never given you a reason to believe that bitch, but you
did and you proved to her that your family will always be more important to you and
will always come first. " Each word was a knife, and I deserved every cut.
"Just—" I couldn't stop the tears now, didn't even try. "Just tell her I'm here. Tell her
I love her. Tell her I'm so sorry, and I want to be there for her and Sofia. Please,
Lake. Please just tell her that." Something flickered in Lake's expression. Not
forgiveness—I didn't deserve that—but maybe a fraction of pity. "I'll tell her you're
here. But Tyson, if she says no, you need to respect that. You need to stay away
from her." "I will. I promise. Just... just please tell her." Lake disappeared through a
set of double doors marked LABOR AND DELIVERY, and I was left standing in the
empty hallway, completely helpless. I found my way to the waiting room and
collapsed into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. The fluorescent lights
buzzed overhead. A TV in the corner played infomercials with the sound off. The
clock on the wall ticked forward with agonizing slowness. 2:58 AM. 3:15 AM. 3:42
AM. My phone buzzed. Caleb. Lake called me. You okay? Want me to come? I stared
at the message, my vision blurring. I wanted my brother. Wanted someone to sit
with me, to tell me it would be okay even if it was a lie. But I didn't deserve comfort.
Didn't deserve company. Me : No. I need to do this alone Caleb : Tyson— Me : I
deserve to be alone. This is my fault. He didn't respond after that.
4:23 AM. 5:01 AM. 5:38 AM. Every minute was torture. Every time the double doors
opened, I jumped up, hoping for news, but it was always someone else's family,
someone else's emergency. Brook was in there, in pain, terrified, going through the
most vulnerable moment of her life, and I wasn't with her. I should be holding her
hand. I should be telling her she's strong, she's amazing, she can do this. I should
be there when our daughter came into the world. Instead, I was out here. Alone.
Because I'd chosen to believe a lie over the woman I loved. If something happened
to Brook, if something happened to Sofia, I would never forgive myself. Never. At
6:17 AM, a doctor in scrubs pushed through the doors. She looked tired but calm,
and when her eyes found mine, I knew. "Mr. Powell?" I was on my feet, my legs
barely holding me. "Yes. Is she—are they—" "You have a daughter. Three pounds,
eight ounces. She's in the NICU —her lungs need some support, and we're
monitoring her closely, but she's stable. Your wife is recovering. She did
beautifully." The relief nearly brought me to my knees. "Can I see them? Please, I
need to see them." The doctor's expression shifted, became more guarded. "You can
see your daughter in the NICU. But your wife has requested no visitors exc ept her
immediate family."
The relief shattered. "I am her immediate family. I'm her husband." "I understand,
Mr. Powell. But we have to respect the patient's wishes." I wanted to scream.
Wanted to punch the wall. Wanted to fall apart completely. But I just nodded, my
throat too tight for words. "The NICU is on the fourth floor. Check in at the nurses'
station." She left, and I stood there, shaking, trying to process it all. Sofia was here.
She was alive. She was tiny and struggling but alive. And Brook didn't want to see
me. I took the elevator to the fourth floor in a daze. The NICU was quiet, dimly lit,
full of be eping machines and tiny isolettes. A nurse checked my ID, made me scrub
my hands and arms, gave me a visitor badge. "She's in bay three," the nurse said
gently. "You can't hold her yet— she needs to stay in the isolette—but you can touch
her, talk to her. Touch is important, even through the openings." Bay three. I
walked on numb legs, past other isolettes with other tiny babies, until I saw her.
Sofia. She was so small. Impossibly small. Tubes in her nose, wires attached to her
chest, monitors be eping steadily. Her skin was red, shiny and thin, translucent, her
eyes closed, her tiny fists curled against her chest. She looked fragile, like she
might break if I breathed too hard. My daughter. I sank into the chair beside her
isolette, and the sob that tore out of me was raw and broken. I pressed my hands
against the plastic,
wishing I could reach through, wishing I could hold her, protect her, and promise
her that everything would be okay. "Hi, baby girl," I whispered, my voice shattered.
"Hi, Sofia. I'm your daddy. I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you were born. I'm so
sorry." She didn't move, didn't react. Just k ept breathing with the help of the tubes,
her tiny chest rising and falling. "You have a big brother named Preston. He's four,
and he's so excited to meet you. He's been talking about you for months, asking
when you're coming, planning all the things he's going to teach you." My voice
broke. "And your mama—God, Sofia, your mama is the strongest, most amazing
person in the world. She loves you so much. She's been taking such good care of
you, and I—I messed everything up. I hurt her. I hurt our family. But I'm going to fix
it, baby girl. I promise you, I'm going to make this right." I reached through one of
the openings in the isolette, my hand trembling, and gently touched her arm. Her
skin was warm, soft, impossibly delicate. She was real. She was here. She was
mine. And I couldn't even hold her. "You have to get strong, okay? You have to fight
and get better so you can come home. So you can meet your brother and sle ep in
the nursery we painted for you. So your mama can hold you and sing to you like she
did with Preston." Tears dripped off my chin onto my shirt. "I love you, Sofia. I love
you so much. And I'm so, so sorry." I stayed there for an hour, maybe more, just
watching her breathe, touching her tiny arm, whispering promises I didn't know if I
could ke ep. When a nurse finally told me I needed to let her rest, I felt like I was
being torn in half. I walked back to the waiting room in a fog. Sat down in the same
plastic chair. Stared at the same buzzing fluorescent lights.
My daughter was in the NICU, fighting to breathe on her own. My wife wouldn't see
me. My son thought I'd abandoned him. And it was all my fault. I put my head in my
hands and let myself break completely, alone in the empty waiting room, with
nothing but my regret and the devastating weight of everything I'd destroyed.