She stops at the desk at the NICU. A neonatalogist looks up at her, and smiles.
"Melinda, what are you doing here?"
"I am here to check on..."
She stops her, "I'll show you the way," knowing exactly which baby she is there to see.
After thoroughly scrubbing every inch of both hands, and gowning up they head towards rows of incubators, and basinets with bili-lights. Half way down the row the doctor stops. Melinda looks to her left, and to her right, trying to figure out which baby it is. Without a word the doctor flips off the bili-light, and quickly wraps the newborn in a receiving blanket. She places the newborn in Melinda's arms. Melinda looks down at the baby who is still wearing protective eye shields, and then back up at the neonatalogist.
"I am here to see baby Benson."
"This is baby Benson."
"Baby B?" Melinda cocks her eyebrow.
"You're holding baby b."
"I thought that they had to intubate baby b."
She shakes her head, "I did some extra suctioning, and after a few seconds the oxygen saturation started to come up. We applied some oxygen for a while, but the baby's vitals improved, and we didn't have to keep it on."
"And baby A."
"Looks just like this one, and is also under a bili-light."
"How big were they?"
"Baby A was four pounds four ounces, and baby B was four pounds even. They both have lots of hair, and bilirubin levels that are through the roof. How is Detective Benson?"
"She's resting."
Nick's phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out as Olivia sleeps. He stares at the picture Melinda has sent him with the caption Baby B. He smiles, and slips the phone back into his pocket. He looks up, and finds Olivia suddenly awake, and staring at him.
"Who was that?"
"No one."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he lies.
"Nick why are you lying to me?"
"You need your rest," he responds.
"Please, don't."
"You're tired. You do need rest."
"How do you know what I need?"
"You a rough, traumatic day, you need some rest."
"I feel restless."
"What can I do to help you with that? Do you want something to eat?"
"I swear if you ask me that question one more time I am going to throw this pitcher of ice water at your head."
"You don't have the strength."
"You would be surprised," she argues.
The next couple of days are incredibly quiet. They each take their turns staying with Olivia. On the third day Olivia is released from the hospital, without once asking to see the babies. Fin is the one who takes her home. He picks up her prescription, and gets her lunch. She gets situated on the couch.
He stares at the uneaten food sitting on the coffee table, and gives Olivia the stink eye. Without a single word he grabs the remote off the coffee table, and turns the television off. She looks up at him in anger, and frustration.
"What is your problem?"
"You," he answers matter-of-factly.
"What did I do to you?"
"Enough is enough," he tells her, as he takes a seat on the edge of the coffee table.
"Excuse me?"
"We've avoided the conversation for three days. Every one of us just sits in silence with you all day. We let you have you space, and your time to reflect. We haven't brought it up, but I know you, and sometimes I think that it's the way you want it. If we don't bring it up you can just deny it. You can pretend that it never happened. This whole time we've been afraid of you getting hurt. Today it struck me that maybe we're hurting you more by never talking about it."
"Fin, please," she begs, already on the verge of tears.
"No. I need to hear it from you."
"Hear what from me?"
"You're sure that this is what you want? Your choice is to place both babies up for adoption."
She shifts into a sitting position. "I don't want to do this right now."
"Olivia avoiding it doesn't make it go away."
"I don't know if I can face it. I don't know if I can face them."
"No one is asking you to face them."
"One day they might. They might ask me to explain it to them, and I don't know if I can," the tears roll down her cheeks.
"You tell them the truth."
"How can I tell them the truth? The truth is unthinkable. It's unspeakable. How am I ever supposed to look them in the eyes and tell them why I didn't want them?"
"It's not like that."
"It won't matter to them. It doesn't matter how good their life is before they find out the truth. When they find out where they come from, how they got here, it will change everything. Nothing will ever be the same. They will never understand."
"How can you know that?"
"Because all of this time, and I still don't understand it myself. I still don't know why my mother chose to keep me. I don't know what made her decide that she didn't want to abort me. She had every right."
"You didn't have a choice."
"It doesn't matter. It shouldn't have to be a choice."
"Are you going to spend the rest of your life hating yourself for this? Are you going to martyr yourself for someone else's sins?"
"You don't understand."
His nostrils flare, "You're right, I don't. I am never going to understand. I can't fathom how you can make a solid, well-rounded decision for two babies that you've never even laid eyes on. How do you know for certain what you want, when you've never held them? When did what you feel stop being important. How can you mourn someone that you pretend didn't even exist? How do you move on never knowing what you really felt? You only know what you feel you should do."
"Why are you doing this?"
He looks at the papers sitting beside him, he lifts them off the surface of the table, "Because you've had these papers for three days, and you still haven't signed them. I doubt that you've even read them."
"I can't."
"You can't sign them?"
"I can't bring myself to read them."
"Why not?"
"Because no matter how I feel, no matter what the situation is, this document basically says that I'm abandoning them. It is a legal document that says I didn't want them."
"Is that true?"
She squirms, and shrugs, and cries, "I don't know. I never even asked what they were."
"What are you really afraid of?"
"That they'll be monsters."
"You're afraid that they will be like him?"
"Yeah," she nods.
"What if they're like you, instead. Strong, and courageous?"