Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Lucas
I haven’t prayed since I was a child. I can’t remember the age I was when I believed there was a powerful man in the sky who would grant wishes if you hoped for them enough. Even when I was older and my mother made me bow my head in church, I recited words I never meant.
Those prayers never came from the heart.
But this one does.
The first time I heard the thump-thump of the heart rate playing in the room slowly during Sadie’s contractions, I nearly shouted in my head for God’s help. I begged him. Apologized. Promised I’d do better. He could have my soul if that’s what He wanted. My undying devotion.
Just don’t take either of these two people from me.
The doctor is nice enough to warn Sadie and me that he’s about to hit an alert button that will make everything feel very frantic and scary. He tried to warn us. But when nurses and doctors start rushing in and things start moving around, there is no warning that could stop us from feeling this terror .
Sadie is sobbing, reaching for me as if I can stop any of this. If I could, I would.
All I can do is pray.
A sweet nurse tries to console her. She tells her these things happen all the time, but it’s like she doesn’t understand. This is our baby. It might happen to other people’s babies, but never to ours.
As they whisk Sadie out of the room, they explain to her that I’ll be prepped as well and will meet her in the room, but nothing could prepare me for what it’s like to feel her hand let go as she’s rolled away.
The tremble in her bones transfers to mine.
One of the nurses guides me to where I’ll need to be prepped, and I feel Isaac behind me. He follows me for as long as he can, but then we reach a door he isn’t allowed to cross into. I turn to him with panic and fear in my eyes, and see that the expression is mirrored in his.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says astutely. “I’ll be here for you. No matter what.”
I could cry with how good that feels. “The family,” I mutter through chattering teeth.
“I’ll call Mom,” he says.
“The rest,” I stutter.
He pauses. And my brain is so drunk on adrenaline I don’t realize what I’m asking. After a deep, sober breath, he nods. “I’ll call them too.”
“Isaac,” I mutter but the nurse behind me touches my arm.
“We have to be going,” she says briskly.
“It’s fine,” Isaac says, waving me away. “Everything will be fine.”
I want to hug him. I want to cry into his shoulder and let him convince me that everything will be fine, but I have to be with Sadie. So I follow the nurse.
It’s a whirlwind from there. I’m rushing through the whole process with shaking hands, but she assures me that they won’t start without me. I’m scrubbed up, covered from head to toe, and guided down another hallway until we’re in a sterile, cold operating room.
I see Sadie strapped to a table, tears streaming down her red face, and I practically sprint across the space to get to her.
The doctors and nurses are all talking, prepping things, but I can only focus on her. As our eyes meet, it feels like something cosmic and powerful. It’s a new version of us, a new couple that experiences terror and trauma together. But I don’t want her to know either of those things so I quickly pull it together and softly stroke her face.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I whisper. “You’re doing so good. Look at how amazing you are.”
“Just keep talking to me,” she cries.
So, I do. I just keep her eyes on me as I tell her every good and amazing thing about her that I love. Like how she sings to herself and dances when she eats and leaves her shoes all over my house. She manages a smile just before the doctor announces that she’s going to feel some pressure.
Sadie seems drugged and dazed but she holds my eyes as we wait, the curtain draped over her abdomen to block our view from the rest of her body. I assume this is going to take a long time. It’s quiet for a moment.
And then…
A cry.
A loud, wailing screech, vigorous and mighty.
Just like that, there’s a new person in the room.
Everything that was sped up a moment ago now moves in slow motion.
Sadie’s eyes widen as my heart bursts straight out of my chest. I bolt upright to look and there he is. Small, white limbs stretch furiously as the nurses work to clean his nose and check his heart and lungs. They place him on Sadie’s chest, and he screams in anger.
“Lucas,” Sadie gasps in a small voice from my side .
When I turn my head to look down at her, I feel tears streak down my face, and I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
“It’s a boy,” I say, emotion strangling me as I try to speak. “And he’s perfect.”
Frantically, I look at the doctors and ask, “Is Sadie okay?”
The doctor gives me a quick nod. “Everything went perfectly.”
The feeling of relief after so much terror is almost too good to absorb. There’s still a shudder in my bones like I couldn’t relax if I tried to.
The baby is still vehement as they clean him off and transfer him to a table nearby. I watch as they tightly swaddle him in a blanket and wipe something clear across his eyes. Then, they pop a tiny cap on his head before turning to look at me.
“Congratulations, Dad,” one of the sweet nurses says. “Would you like to take him over to Mom?”
The world stops turning entirely. I’m frozen in place as the nurse picks up the baby and hands him to me. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, to be handed a newborn and feel so incredibly inadequate and unprepared.
But then he’s in my arms and suddenly it’s like the first day of my life.
Holding him tightly to my chest, I carry him over to where Sadie is still lying, strapped to the operating table. She searches for him with her eyes as I lower him toward her.
She turns her head his way, and I swear he does the same, as if they’re looking for each other. They’re pressed together, cheek to cheek, and I’ve never felt anything so raw and powerful in my chest before. She cries and just rejoices in feeling her baby against her skin. Meanwhile, he roots for her like he’s still a part of her.
“Look at him, Sadie. I’m so fucking proud of you,” I cry as I crouch near them both.
There was once two of us, but now there are three.
“Is he okay?” she squeaks. “Everything is okay?”
“Everything is okay,” I say with a weepy smile .
She squeezes her eyes shut with a tight expression of gratitude on her face. Then she opens them and kisses the side of his head.
“Hello, Henry,” she whispers. “We love you so much.”
She looks up at me as if she’s trying to gauge my emotions like it’s not evident by the trails of tears streaking across my face.
“Yes, we do,” I add, leaning down to kiss him right where she did.
Our time is cut short and the nurses put Henry in this tiny rolling bassinet. They invite me to walk with them to the nursery, and Sadie urges me to go. As if she doesn’t want me to let him out of my sight. I’m way ahead of her. I walk protectively behind them as they push him down the long hall to the nursery. Then, they let me watch through the window as they give him a quick bath and do a few more tests.
He gets so angry at them when they unswaddle him, and it makes me smile. I love to see him scream in fury.
As I’m standing outside the nursery, I briefly realize that I left Isaac somewhere in the hospital. And the rest of my family is likely here, too. It’s too late for visitors right now, but if I know my family, they’re here whether or not they’re allowed to be. They’d sleep in the waiting room if they had to.
I feel bad for leaving Isaac to deal with them alone. I don’t know how they’ll react when they see him, but right now, it’s not my priority. My focus is this baby and the woman I love. Everything else is just noise.
Once they’re done with Henry in the nursery, they wheel him to our recovery room. Sadie is already there, sleeping now.
His nurse smiles down at the baby. “Let her sleep for now, but if he wakes up and wants to nurse, we’ll be around to help her.”
“Okay, thank you,” I mutter nervously.
Then, the nurses just leave me alone with them, and it all feels too surreal. How can I suddenly be responsible for a baby?
“Hey,” a soft voice calls from the doorway. I spin around to see Isaac standing in the room.
The relief and emotion that washes over me in that moment practically brings me to my knees. I cross the room in a rush and pull him into my arms.
“I had to bribe a nurse to let me back here this late,” he mumbles against my shoulder.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I reply, my voice tight.
As we part, his eyes find my face and there’s something somber in them. “I couldn’t do it,” he confesses.
“Do what?” I ask.
“I couldn’t call them. I’m so sorry, Luke.”
The remorse on his face guts me. Grabbing him by the back of the neck, I haul him toward me and stare into his eyes. “I don’t care,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m sorry I asked you to.”
“I’m not ready to be around them all yet. I don’t feel like part of the family anymore,” he stammers, tears in his eyes. “I wanted to do it for you, but I just…couldn’t.”
“Isaac, I don’t care.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
“I’m thankful you’re here.”
“I never left,” he says. “I was afraid if I called one of them, then I’d freak out and leave, but I promised you I’d stay.”
“I’m glad you did. And you might be ready one day, and you might not. But that is up to you, and there’s no right answer, Isaac.”
He hugs me again, and we don’t say anything else. There’s nothing left to be said.
As we pull apart, he glances over at the bassinet, so I guide him toward it quietly and watch his expression change as he sees Henry lying there.
“Holy shit,” he whispers.
“I know, right?”
“That’s a baby,” Isaac mumbles.
“Pretty wild.”
“You guys have a kid.” He stares in awe for a while, but when I let out a yawn, he stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “You’re exhausted. Get some rest. And text me tomorrow, okay? ”
“Okay,” I reply.
Silently, Isaac slips out of the room, and I collapse onto the stiff couch near the window. Rolling Henry toward me, I watch him for as long as I can. No matter how tired I am, my eyes don’t drift closed for even a second.
Five minutes later, he lets out a hungry-sounding cry. His eyes are still closed, but his mouth opens and closes as if he’s looking for something. I burst up from the couch and carefully lift him from the bassinet.
He stops crying for a moment as if my presence alone is enough to soothe him. Then I just hold him, staring down at his perfect little face. The first thing I notice is Sadie’s button nose. Everything else is too hard to determine yet, but that one small feature alone makes me smile.
I remember how I worried that my love for him would not come as naturally as I wanted, which now I realize was incredibly futile. Because I’ve never known love like this. I don’t need to give Henry my heart because he already has it. His presence alone is a miracle.
Did God have a hand in this moment? It feels like some higher power did. Not that I’m suddenly devout and ready to go back, but I feel closer to a small part of myself that I shut off decades ago. This faith I once had has been renewed.
Even if God doesn’t exist, Henry does. And that is just as powerful to me.
I always thought I was meant for something more in this life. I wanted to do something people would remember: a legacy to outlive me. I thought I was so smart and had it all figured out. But now I realize I was meant for this. I was meant to be his father and her husband. Because this feeling is the greatest thing that has ever existed.
And I almost missed this. By some miracle from God, I didn’t.