Carol hated this. There were very few things she hated more than seeing Therese in pain. She told herself, as she had for over a year now, since they started trying, that it would be worth it in the end. More than worth it.
"It's too hard," Therese cried, collapsing back against the pillows, "I can't!"
Carol squeezed her hand, pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. It wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to press her lips there instead, say things that couldn't be said in this room, in front of these people. "You can. I promise you can. The hard part's almost over darling, I promise."
Even the "darling" felt like a risk, but Carol couldn't hold it back. She'd fought and begged and bribed her way in here to help Therese. One little endearment wasn't enough, but it was all she had to give at the moment.
Everything about this had been such a fight, everything. Deciding that they wanted a family, a child together, that was the first step. As far as Carol was concerned, the only easy one. There was that horrendously awkward dinner with Dannie. There were several attempts. There was Therese taking too long in the shower and not talking to Carol unless prompted. And when finally Carol did get her to admit what she was thinking, there was Therese breaking apart and sobbing about how it felt like a betrayal. Always, no matter what Carol said or how sweet and careful and equally mortified Dannie was, it felt like betrayal, it hurt. There was Therese saying maybe she was wrong, maybe this was wrong and God she was sorry, but please don't hate her if she can't do it again.
Carol held Therese that night and rocked her, whispered endlessly that she'd never, ever hate her, that it was okay. They were okay. They had each other and they had Rindy on weekends and it was more than Carol deserved, more than she ever thought she'd have. They didn't need anything else. Carol didn't. A few times Carol told Therese to breathe, that it was okay, that she just had to breathe. Because there were times that night when Therese got upset enough that she couldn't. So stressed and overwhelmed that just taking in air was too hard.
Therese was sick the next morning. And the next. She told Carol later that she'd never been so happy to be sick. Carol hugged her as tightly as she dared when the doctor called with the test results.
Carol wanted to hug Therese now, pull her close and take the pain into herself. She'd already felt it with Rindy, it wouldn't be so bad for her. She almost wished Therese had accepted the norm, let them put her to sleep where she wouldn't hurt. But Carol hadn't accepted that either, found the idea just as disturbing. Going to sleep and waking up with a baby that was just…there. No control, no memories, just a drug-induced sleep. Carol hadn't wanted that either, so why would Therese?
But God, Carol wished she had, hoped desperately that Therese hadn't chosen to suffer through this because of her. Everything about this pregnancy was measured against Carol's. Every new, exciting, scary moment, Therese would ask if it was normal, if this was what happened with Rindy. Carol hoped desperately as she watched her love cry out against the contractions that Therese hadn't gone this route because it was the only thing she could imagine, because it was what Carol chose.
"She's right, Miss Belivet, you're almost done. One more nice, big push for me."
"I can't…I can't!"
Carol was quite certain this was the first time in the fourteen hours they'd been here that the doctor said she was right about anything. The staff loathed her, she was sure, for invading their domain, breaking their rules. She didn't care, hadn't cared for one second of the last fourteen hours. She cared about Therese, flushed with exertion and shaking her head as tears fell.
"Don't push for him," Carol whispered low in Therese's ear, bathing her face with the cloth again to get rid of the tears, the sweat. "Push for us, for the family we're about to make, the baby you gave us. Please, sweetheart?"
Therese looked at her, the familiar green eyes glassy with fear and exhaustion. "Promise me it'll be over soon."
"I promise," Carol said instantly, squeezing Therese's hand again. "I promise. Once more, alright? Take a deep breath for me."
Therese did. Then she pushed, her whole body shaking with the effort. Carol said things she wasn't aware of, encouragements to keep going, keep trying. And then Therese fell back, a raw, primal scream turning into harsh, panting breaths. And Carol saw a small body with dark hair and heard someone say it was a girl.
It was a glorious, surreal, perfect moment. She was crying and Therese was crying and she never imagined feeling this happy. She wanted to shower Therese's face in kisses, kiss away the strain and the hurt, kiss her and tell her how perfect she was, how proud Carol was of her. She couldn't do most of that, whispered what she could into Therese's ear over the noise of the doctor and nurses. The doctor was grinning and Carol forgot how she'd wanted to throttle him before and everything was perfect.
Until Carol realized what was missing in all the noise, all the movement, She and Therese were crying.
The baby wasn't.
The doctor's smile vanished. The movement in the room changed pace. The nurses who'd been giving her dirty looks all night and half the morning were hustling away now, with her child. Their child.
Therese started to panic then. She wanted to know where they were taking her daughter, what was wrong. Why she wasn't crying.
"It's okay honey, it's normal."
That lie came from some other nurse Carol didn't know. Suddenly there were more people in the room, more white coats and uniforms.
"It's not…no! Carol, it's not right, is it? It's not right that she isn't crying. Carol?"
Therese grew more frantic with every word. Carol gave herself half a second, closed her eyes. "It's okay, it's going to be okay."
Carol prayed she wasn't lying. Actually prayed, which was rare to say the least. She'd already lied to Therese once in the last few minutes, told her the hard part would be over when the baby came.
Please God don't let it be over. The best part of Carol's life couldn't possibly start and end in the same moment.
Therese's fears weren't abated. She shook and pleaded and demanded to see her baby. She was getting hysterical and starting to say things, things that could end their already-flimsy charade in which Therese was just an unwed mother in need of help and Carol was just a friend who'd opened up her home.
Carol pulled Therese into her arms/ She hated this, that she couldn't say what she needed to, what Therese needed. That she couldn't just take this moment to be scared out of her mind and feel the room spin under her. That she had to worry about maintaining a bullshit story while her world and the angel who fell into it came apart.
"What did I do?" Therese sobbed. "What did I do, Carol, why isn't she crying?"
"You did nothing, do you hear me? You did nothing wrong, Therese. This isn't your fault, it isn't. This is not your fault."
"Why isn't she crying?"
"It's okay, it's okay, angel."
To hell with the story, no one seemed to be paying them much attention anyway. Or perhaps they were and Carol simply couldn't be bothered to return the favor. She was more concerned with the quiver in her own voice. It said too much, more than words ever could.
"Breathe. Come on…breathe, please."
Carol said this to Therese because it was like that night again, the night they almost gave up. Therese so distressed that she couldn't get air. Carol told her to breathe, had told her that countless times as the contractions did their work. She told Therese to breathe and tried to be something like calm about it instead of yelling, ordering Therese to make her lungs work because dammit, she couldn't lose both of them. Couldn't survive losing both of them.
"You have to breathe, Therese, you have to stay with me. She'll need you when they bring her back."
She wasn't lying. She couldn't be lying. She didn't lie to Therese about important things, not ever, so it had to be the truth. Therese had to listen to her, had to breathe. If she could make Therese listen, she could do the same with the baby, get her breathing. If they'd just take her where they'd taken the baby, Carol could fix it, could say exactly the right things, do exactly the right things to make their daughter okay.
Please God don't let it be over.
Some of the people from before came back. It felt like forever later, but Carol couldn't be sure how long it really took. People came back and one of them was a nurse holding a pink bundle.
Carol heard her second daughter cry for the first time. A small sound at first that quickly grew louder. Beautifully loud.
"Sometimes they need a bit of help to start with. Give us a little scare to make sure they've got our attention."
The nurse said this, while smiling. She smiled and put the child, their beautifully crying child, against Therese's chest and Carol sobbed, releasing a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.