Edward
"Hey there, little fighter," I say, walking into the private NICU room, eyes already on my daughter's tiny form in the incubator. "Any problems?"
Mom shakes her head and her eyes crinkle from the smile behind her mask. "No, she's been absolutely perfect." She stands up as I lower the door and caress my daughter's cheek with the tip of my finger. "And Bella?"
My gentle smile falls as I shake my head. "No change."
Her hand rubs my back and all I can do is look at my daughter to keep the tears at bay. She's six days old and doing surprisingly well after her terrifying birth and first twenty-four hours. She's already endured heart surgery and a series of complications, but . . . I can't give up on her. She's strong, a fighter like her mother, so I made the difficult decision to continue treatment—and possibly cause her suffering. As a physician, I don't know if I made the right choice, but as father, I know I did. She's now thriving, getting a little healthier each day. She has an incredibly long road ahead of her, but this is good right now.
After pulling my shirt over my head, I make sure I have plenty of blankets and then carefully lift her tiny body out of the incubator and lay her against my chest as I settle into the rocking chair. She can't breathe on her own and needs a feeding tube for nutrients, along with IVs and monitors, but I can still hold her. When things were still very touch and go, a nurse suddenly demanded I take my shirt off and, after my horrified expression and her boisterous laugh, she explained kangaroo care. I've been doing it as much as possible in between seeing Bella. Hopefully soon, she can relish this incredible feeling, too.
"Momma and I talked, and I still can't name you, sweetpea," I say, pressing my lips to the top of her impossibly small head. "It's just that I'm terrible at naming things, not that you're a thing, but she's so very much better. It might be a little while longer, but you don't mind the nicknames, do you?"
I hate that it's been almost a week since her birth and she's still Baby Girl Cullen. Bella has so much waiting for her, so many things only she can do, but with each passing day my faith crumbles a little more. She coded again after I left with our daughter. Dad and Kate worked tirelessly, but it took a long time for them to resuscitate her. We won't know the full extend of the damage until she wakes up, if she does. Her lungs are starting to clear with the right antibiotics, but it means nothing if she never regains consciousness.
"I'm going to go sit with Bella, sweetheart," Mom says. "Is your dad . . . How is he?"
"About the same," I sigh. "I tried talking to him. You know I don't blame him, but it doesn't seem to matter because he blames himself. He left her side once to get coffee while I was there."
She smiles sadly and I know this is killing her. Dad didn't do anything wrong, but it was the perfect storm of complication after complication. No one could have done anything differently, but I highly doubt he'll realize that unless Bella wakes up.
"Well, I'm going to try and get him to eat, at least," she says. "Can I get you anything?"
I shake my head. "No, thank you. Tell Dad to come see his granddaughter again soon, though."
With a nod, she turns and leaves the small room as I gently caress my sweet girl's back with just a fingertip. At twenty-five weeks, she was nowhere near ready to come out and it still nags at me if I've done the right thing by her. Yes, she's improving, but . . . there's just so much we can't know until she's older. I tell myself she's going to live a full life, she'll be healthy and normal, but what if I'm wrong? What if she only knows pain and suffering?
I lose track of time as I sit with her. Her nurse comes in and out multiple times, but I've lost count and when I finally glance at the clock, I'm shocked we've been like this for three hours. The sweet girl on my chest looks as peaceful as she can possibly be with all the monitors and tubes and I can't describe the feeling settling into my chest as I gaze upon her. She's so tiny and frail, but all I can see is strength. Each rise and fall of her chest is a victory and though her skin is still nearly translucent and there isn't an ounce of fat on her, she's absolutely gorgeous.
"You are your mother's daughter, sweetpea," I whisper, kissing her hat-covered head. "Strong, beautiful, and brave. I need you both, okay? You have to keep getting stronger and improving because I know your momma will, too."
. . . . .
At one pound and six ounces, my little fighter is hardly a heavyweight champion, but she definitely deserves the belt. I'm constantly amazed at how well she's doing, though that isn't to say we didn't have some hurdles to jump. Still, she's ten days old and only getting stronger. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for her mom.
Everyday I sit beside Bella and pray for her to wake up, but she hasn't and I don't know if she ever will. Dad's brought in specialist after specialist, but all we know is she has brain function—to what extent, we don't know. Her body has been through hell, though. She needs a chance to rest and recover and maybe this is just her body's way of doing exactly that. I have to believe that when she's ready, she'll come back to us. There's nothing I can do to fix this. At least I could change her meds when it came to the cancer. I knew how to fight it and with her strength, we did it. This on the other hand . . . I can't fight with her.
"Son?"
Looking up and opening my eyes, I find Dad in the doorway to the NICU room and offer a small smile. "Hey, how's Bella?"
He clears his throat and walks in, taking the seat next to me. "She's the same. I just . . . I haven't seen enough of this little one and thought maybe it was time."
Glancing down at the sleeping girl on my chest, I nod and smile as I gather her gently. "Grab a warm blanket from that cabinet." I tilt my head toward the counter and he's quick to get one. With everything attached to her, it's not exactly easy to move our sweetpea, but Dad and I manage it easily enough and I can tell this is something he needs.
"You know you saved her life, right?" I ask as he gazes down at her. He tries to shake his head, but I won't let him off like that. "You did. And whatever happens to Bella is not your fault. You and I both know she wanted one thing, and because of you and Kate, and everyone else, that's happened. She would feel awful, knowing you're doing this to yourself over her."
He sighs and I can tell he agrees. Bella would feel guilty for causing any kind of disruption in life. Hell, she has before. "It all went wrong at once," he says softly, shaking his head. "In all of my years, I've never been so terrified. But I suppose I also have never considered a patient my own daughter. Edward, if she doesn't—"
"I can't think that way," I say, cutting him off with a wave of my hand. "She wouldn't want us to, Dad. I have to believe she'll wake up. For me, for you, but most of all, for this little girl. She knows her daughter needs her, so I won't consider the possibility of her not coming back to us."
He nods before closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "She is quite the fighter. And if there was ever a reason, this little one would be it. You both did a great job, son."
Eyeing the tiny human nestled against his chest, I can't help but agree. "Thank you. I'm going down to see Bella."
"I'll stay with her. Hopefully they'll be together soon—" His eyes suddenly pop open and zero in on mine. "I wonder . . ."
"What?"
"The kangaroo care helped her, so I wonder if Bella may benefit from holding her. We can't move either of them, though."
"Why not? She's gone down to the OR three separate times, which is further than Bella's room. We'll have the room cleaned first and be careful." I can't believe I haven't thought of this. It's so obvious and yet it didn't even cross my mind. This little girl is Bella's world, so maybe she needs to know our daughter is going to survive. It can't hurt anything. "Dad, you're a genius."
He cocks his brow, laughing softly. "I'm not sure about that, but I think we should try it. Go arrange it. If anyone asks, it's under my authority."
. . . . .
By the time we bring Sweetpea down to Bella's room, every single thing has been sanitized and cleaned, leaving no room for mistake. They're both still incredibly susceptible to infections, so we can't take any chances. Bella's pneumonia has cleared and she was never contagious, so there's no risk of getting our daughter sick, but there are still any number of things that could make them ill. I have no idea if this will help, but even if it doesn't, at least Bella will have finally held our little girl.
She had a plan for all of this; the labor, birth, recovery . . . all of it. It's all written out in her binder, which is still at home with her go bag I never grabbed. Even the bag for the baby remains at the house, which I haven't been to since this all started. Nothing went according to her plan, but the most disappointing thing is that she missed the birth and never got to hold her. She'd planned to take her right away and start breastfeeding, and though I can't give that back to her, this is something I can do.
"Ready to meet your momma, sweetpea?" I ask, very carefully lifting her from the incubator and turning toward Bella. Mom's ready with a blanket to put over them and as I lay her down, I bring Bella's hand up to lay on her tiny back.
The sight before me leaves me breathless and longing. Why did it have to go this way? Hasn't Bella suffered enough? For Christ's sake, she had lung cancer. None of this is fair or right, but there's also nothing I can do to change it—no matter how dearly I wish otherwise.
"This is our daughter, Bella love," I say, caressing her hand over our little girl's back. "You did it and she's going to survive, but we need you too. She needs her momma and I . . . I don't think I can do this without you."
Tears burn my eyes as I imagine a life without her. How can I raise our daughter with only half of my heart? "Remember telling me how you couldn't wait to braid her hair? You painted a picture of the first day of school with your words. Pigtails, you said. The cutest bows. And if she hated dresses and skirts, you said it didn't matter. All that mattered was being there, helping her get ready, and sending her off. I can't do it without you, sweetheart. Please, please come back to us."
I know my family is gathered around and I'm falling apart in front of them, but I don't care. These two are my entire life and I can't live without either of them. In the short time I've spent with my daughter, I've watched a personality blossom in the subtlest ways. She doesn't cry or even open her eyes, but I can tell when she's content—like when she's against my chest or in her grandmother's arms. And when she's upset and her little face scrunches just slightly, I know she wants to scream and tell people to leave her alone. Bella deserves to see this—to experience these moments.
"Come back to us, love," I whisper, gently pressing my lips to her forehead. "You've fought time and time again, and I know you're tired, but I need you to keep fighting and come back to us. To me. To her. You're not alone anymore, Bella, and so many people need you. Please, open your eyes."
Her beautiful browns stay hidden behind her eyelids as I caress her cheek and I know that eventually they'll open, but I wish so fucking badly they would right now. I don't want her to miss another moment of our daughter's life because this feeling—the way my heart seems to grow when I look at our girl—is one of the best I've ever felt. She deserves to feel this same way—to look at what we've created and feel nothing but love and pride and joy. The fact that I can't share this with her is tearing me apart. All of our plans have fallen apart and I have no idea how I'm supposed to do any of this without her.
Wiping my eyes, I kiss her forehead once more before just watching the two of them. I want to believe I can see Bella's hand twitch over our daughter's back—I imagine it's the sign I've been waiting for—but I'm not quite that naïve. A muscle spasm is much more plausible and, sadly, the reality.
If this read super choppy, I'm so sorry. It kind of took a year and a half to write. Good news is half of the next chapter is written and it's already as long as this one is, so hopefully that'll make up for it. Thank you all so, so, so much for all the kind words and reviews. You don't know how much they brighten my day and make me happy.