Brook The hospital room was too quiet. That's what struck me first, in those hazy moments after they wheeled me out of delivery. When I'd had Preston, Tyson had been there—pacing, talking non-stop, asking the nurses a million questions, his hand never leaving mine. The room had been filled with his presence, his love, his excitement. Now there was just the be ep of monitors and Lake's gentle breathing as she dozed in the chair beside my bed. Sofia was two floors up in the NICU. My baby girl, born eight weeks too early because my body couldn't handle the stress. Because my husband had shattered me so completely that even my physical self had broken under the weight of it. I pressed my hands against my deflated belly, feeling
the emptiness there. She should still be inside me, safe and warm, growing stronger. Instead, she was in a plastic box, fighting to breathe on her own. The tears came silently, sliding down my temples into my hair. "Brook?" Lake was instantly awake, her hand finding mine. "What do you need? Are you in pain?" "I want to see her." My voice was hoarse from hours of screaming, from pushing, from bringing our daughter into the world without her father beside me. "I need to see Sofia." "The doctor said you need to rest a few more hours before—" "I don't care what the doctor said." I tried to sit up, and Lake gently pushed me back down. "Lake, please. She's alone up there. She's so tiny and she's alone and she needs me." "She's not alone. River and Lacey are with her. She's never by herself." Lake smoothed my hair back from my forehead. "But I'll see if we can get you up there sooner. Okay?" I nodded, fresh tears spilling over. "Is he still here?" I didn't have to say who. Lake's expression tightened. "He's in the waiting room. He's been there all night." Something twisted in my chest. "Did he see her?" "Yes. The nurses let him visit the NICU." Lake paused. "Brook, he's a mess. I've never seen anyone look so destroyed." "Good." But the word felt hollow. I wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain he'd caused me. But knowing he was out there, alone and heartbroken while our daughter fought for every breath, didn't bring the satisfaction I'd expected. "Do you want me to tell him anything? About you? About Sofia?" Did I? What was there to say? That I'd labored for hours without him, that I'd screamed his name when the pain was at its worst before remembering he didn't deserve to be there? That I'd given birth to his daughter while hating him and loving him in equal, agonizing measure? "No," I whispered. "I don't want to talk to him."The doctors and nurses can talk with him about Sofia. I won’t ke ep him from her, but-” I trailed off. “But I don’t want to see him. He made his choice, and it wasn’t me.” Lake nodded, but I saw the question in her eyes. The doubt. She didn't understand—none of them did, not really. They could be angry on my behalf, could rage at what Tyson had done, but they hadn't felt it. Hadn't felt the moment the person you trusted most in the world looked at you like you were a stranger. Like you were capable of the worst kind of betrayal and walked away. Two hours later, a nurse helped me into a wheelchair. Every part of my body ached—the de ep, bone-tired exhaustion of childbirth combined with the emotional devastation of the past week. I felt like I'd been hollowed out and left empty. The NICU was dimmer than I'd expected, quieter. Peaceful, almost, despite all the machines and monitors. River met us at the entrance, his eyes red-rimmed. "She's beautiful, Brook," he said softly. "She looks just like you." Lake wheeled me to bay three, and there she was. My daughter. She was impossibly tiny, her skin almost translucent under the warming lights. Tubes and wires covered her little body, but I could see her face—perfect and small, with a tiny button nose and lips that pursed even in sle ep. Dark hair, just like Preston's. Just like Tyson's. "Oh, baby girl," I breathed, my hand reaching for the isolette. "Oh, Sofia, I'm here. Mama's here." A nurse appeared beside me, kind-faced and gentle. "You can touch her through the ports. She needs to stay warm right now, but skin contact is good for her. Let her
know you're here." My hands were shaking as I slipped them through the openings. Sofia's arm was smaller than my thumb, delicate and perfect. I stroked her skin with one finger, and she shifted slightly, her tiny hand flexing. "Hi, sweet girl," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to come early. But you're going to be okay. You're strong, just like your brother. You're a fighter." She was beautiful. She was perfect. And she was here two months too soon because her father had broken her mother's heart. The anger surged up again, hot and bitter. This was Tyson's fault. All of it. If he'd just trusted me, if he'd just believed in us, Sofia would still be safe inside me. We'd still be a family. Preston wouldn't be confused and scared, and I wouldn't be sitting here alone, staring at my premature daughter through plastic walls. "Brook." River's voice was quiet. "He's outside. Tyson. He's been asking if he can see you." My whole body went rigid. "No." "He's really torn up. I know he fucked up, but—" "No." I didn't look away from Sofia. Couldn't. "I don't want to see him. I don't want to hear his apologies or his excuses. He made his choice." "Brook—" "He thought I cheated on him, River. He thought I lied about Preston for four years. He walked out on me while I was seven months pregnant." My voice was rising, and I forced it back down, not wanting to disturb Sofia. "He doesn't get to be here now. He doesn't get to play the concerned husband after everything he's done." "Okay." River held up his hands. "Okay, I'll tell him." After he left, Lake wheeled me closer to the isolette. I sat there for over an hour, just watching Sofia breathe, touching her soft skin, whispering promises I hoped I could ke ep. Letti and Mavis came by, then Lacey. They took turns sitting with me, bringing me water I didn't drink and food I couldn't eat. They told me Sofia was strong, that she'd be fine, that I was amazing. The words washed over me without really landing. All I could think about was the empty chair on the other side of Sofia's isolette. The chair where Tyson should be sitting. Where he should be touching our daughter's hand and marveling at her tiny fingers and promising her the world. But he'd given up that right when he believed Celeste's lies. When the nurses finally insisted I needed to go back to my room and rest, I felt like I was abandoning her. Lake had to practically pry my hands away from the isolette. "She'll be okay," Lake promised. "River's staying with her. She won't be alone." Back in my room, I stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about Tyson in the waiting room, tried not to wonder if he was still there, if he'd gone home, if he'd given up. I tried not to care. But I did care. God help me, I still cared. And that made everything so much worse. My phone sat on the bedside table, dark and silent. I knew if I turned it on, there would be messages from him. Apologies, pleas, desperate promises to make things right. I didn't want to read them. Didn't want to feel the pull toward forgiveness that I knew would come if I heard his voice, saw his words. But my hand reached for the phone anyway. Twenty-three missed calls. Thirty-seven text messages. I opened them against my better judgment, my vision blurring as I read. Husband : I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. Husband : Please let me see you. Let me apologize in person. Husband : She's beautiful, Brook. Our daughter is so beautiful. Husband : I love you. I love Sofia. I love Preston. Please.
Husband : If I could take it all back I would. Husband : I know I don't deserve anything from you, but please just tell me you're okay. Husband : I'm not leaving the hospital until you talk to me. The last message had come in ten minutes ago. I stared at it for a long time, my thumb hovering over the r eply button. Then I turned the phone off and set it face-down on the table. I wasn't ready. Might never be ready. Tyson had made his choice when he walked out our door. Now I am making mine. Even if it was killing me.