Chapter 13 Before the Miracle
Waiting With Hope
The decision to try for a child changed the rhythm of their lives.
Nothing looked different from the outside.
Adrian still went to the hospital.
Riley still worked at the art center and continued developing plans for his future studio.
They still shared breakfast, argued playfully over groceries, and fell asleep beside each other at night.
Yet underneath all of it was a quiet new awareness.
They were waiting.
The first few days were filled with excitement.
Riley had started collecting ideas for a nursery.
Adrian pretended not to care about the details, then spent nearly an hour comparing different furniture options.
"You said you didn't care," Riley reminded him.
"I said I didn't care about decorations."
"You have six nursery furniture tabs open."
"Safety matters."
Riley laughed.
"Of course it does."
Adrian looked at the screen.
"We need something durable."
"We haven't even conceived yet."
Adrian paused.
"That's irrelevant."
Riley smiled.
"You've already become a father."
"Not yet."
"You're researching cribs."
"That's preparation."
Riley leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"I love you."
Adrian smiled.
"I love you too."
The excitement was easy at first.
They talked about names.
They imagined bedtime stories.
Riley wondered whether their child would love art.
Adrian wondered whether their child would hate vegetables.
They laughed about the possibility of a toddler running through the apartment.
The nursery remained an empty room for now, but they began imagining what it might become.
Riley wanted a reading corner.
Adrian wanted secure storage.
Riley wanted artwork.
Adrian wanted washable surfaces.
They compromised on both.
The room gradually became a place of possibility.
But beneath the excitement was uncertainty.
Adrian knew too much about biology to believe that wanting something guaranteed it.
Medicine could provide options.
It could increase possibilities.
It could monitor progress.
It could offer explanations.
But it couldn't promise timing.
That was difficult for him.
Adrian was used to certainty.
In surgery, uncertainty was something to manage.
He gathered information.
He assessed risks.
He made decisions.
He acted.
Waiting without knowing was different.
One morning, Adrian woke early and checked the calendar.
Riley was still asleep.
Adrian stared at the date.
Then at the notes he had made.
He frowned.
Riley stirred.
"What are you doing?"
Adrian looked over.
"Nothing."
Riley opened one eye.
"You're staring at the calendar."
"I'm checking something."
"At six in the morning?"
Adrian sighed.
"Maybe."
Riley smiled sleepily.
"You are terrible at relaxing."
"I know."
Riley reached for his hand.
"Come back to bed."
Adrian hesitated.
Then he closed the calendar and returned to bed.
Riley rested his head against his shoulder.
"You don't have to solve this."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Adrian smiled.
"I'm trying."
Riley kissed his chest.
"Good."
They tried to keep their days normal.
Sometimes they succeeded.
Sometimes they didn't.
Adrian found himself thinking about the baby at unexpected moments.
During surgery.
At the grocery store.
While driving home.
Even while reading medical reports.
He would see something small and imagine it belonging to their child.
A tiny pair of socks.
A stuffed animal.
A children's book.
A little jacket hanging beside theirs.
The thoughts made him smile.
They also made him nervous.
One afternoon, Adrian returned home with a small paper bag.
Riley looked at it.
"What did you buy?"
"Nothing."
Riley raised an eyebrow.
"That bag says otherwise."
Adrian handed it over.
Riley opened it.
Inside was a tiny knitted hat.
He stared at it.
"Adrian."
"I saw it."
"You bought a baby hat."
"It was practical."
Riley laughed.
"How is a newborn hat practical when we don't have a newborn?"
"It could be."
Riley looked at him.
"You're hopeful."
Adrian nodded.
"Yes."
Riley's expression softened.
"So am I."
He kissed Adrian.
The hat remained on the table.
Neither of them put it away.
That evening, they imagined their child wearing it.
Riley wondered whether they would have a boy or a girl.
Adrian said it didn't matter.
Riley agreed.
They talked about names.
Some were rejected immediately.
Others stayed on the list.
One name made both of them smile.
They didn't say it aloud again.
It felt too precious.
As the weeks passed, the excitement became quieter.
The first rush of anticipation gave way to patience.
Then uncertainty.
One evening, Riley came home from the art center and found Adrian sitting at the dining table.
The calendar was open again.
Riley put his bag down.
"You're doing it again."
Adrian looked up.
"I know."
Riley sat beside him.
"You don't have to check every day."
"I know."
"Then why do you?"
Adrian was quiet.
"Because I want an answer."
Riley reached for his hand.
"I know."
"I want to know whether it's happening."
"I know."
"I want to know when."
Riley smiled gently.
"That's the part nobody can promise."
Adrian looked frustrated.
"I should be able to understand it."
"You understand the medical side."
"That's not the same thing."
"No."
Riley squeezed his hand.
"You can't turn hope into a laboratory result."
Adrian looked at him.
Riley continued.
"You can prepare."
He touched Adrian's chest.
"You can hope."
Then he touched his cheek.
"You can love."
He smiled.
"But you can't force tomorrow to arrive today."
Adrian exhaled.
"I hate that."
"I know."
Riley leaned against him.
"Let's enjoy this part too."
"This part?"
"The part where we're hoping."
Adrian looked down at him.
"How do I do that?"
"Imagine our baby without worrying about when."
Adrian smiled faintly.
Riley continued.
"Think about bedtime stories."
"Art."
"Family dinners."
"Little shoes."
"Someone stealing your coffee."
Adrian laughed.
"Absolutely not."
Riley smiled.
"See? You're already imagining it."
Adrian kissed his forehead.
"You're right."
They stopped checking the calendar every day.
Not completely.
Adrian was still Adrian.
But he tried.
They focused on their lives.
Riley continued working on his studio plans.
Adrian maintained healthier boundaries at the hospital.
They spent evenings together.
They cooked.
They watched movies.
They went for walks.
They talked about the future.
Sometimes they forgot about waiting.
Those were the best moments.
Then another day passed.
No certainty.
No answer.
Nothing had changed.
Adrian sat beside Riley on the sofa that evening.
Riley was reading.
Adrian was quiet.
After several minutes, Riley looked up.
"You're thinking."
"I am."
"About the baby?"
Adrian nodded.
Riley closed his book.
Adrian stared at their hands.
"I didn't expect this to matter so much."
Riley's expression softened.
"What do you mean?"
"I thought I'd be calm."
"You?"
Adrian smiled.
"I thought I would understand the process and accept whatever happened."
"And now?"
Adrian took a slow breath.
"Now I want it."
Riley reached for him.
Adrian continued.
"I want to see you holding our child."
Riley's eyes filled with emotion.
"I want to hear you reading bedtime stories."
He smiled faintly.
"I want to come home and find toys everywhere."
Riley laughed softly.
"That sounds terrifying."
"It does."
They both smiled.
Adrian's voice became quieter.
"I want all of it."
Riley leaned against him.
Adrian wrapped his arms around him.
"I think I'm more emotionally invested than I expected."
Riley kissed his cheek.
"That's okay."
Adrian held him tighter.
"I was prepared for the medical uncertainty."
Riley smiled.
"And the emotional uncertainty?"
Adrian shook his head.
"No."
They remained together.
The answer still hadn't come.
But Adrian realized something important.
Waiting had already changed him.
He had spent his life believing that certainty was what made him feel safe.
Now he understood that sometimes love meant stepping into uncertainty willingly.
They didn't know when their family would grow.
They didn't know what the next weeks would bring.
But they knew what they wanted.
Each other.
A child.
A home filled with warmth.
And a future they were willing to wait for together.
The Doctor Becomes the Patient
The consultation room was quieter than Adrian expected.
He sat beside Riley with his hands folded over his knees, listening carefully as the specialist explained the next steps.
Riley asked questions.
Adrian asked more.
The specialist answered patiently.
Then Adrian asked another question.
Riley looked at him.
Adrian stopped.
"What?"
"You've asked that three times."
"I want to make sure I understand."
"You understand."
Adrian frowned.
"I want to be certain."
Riley smiled gently.
"You're doing it again."
Adrian knew exactly what he was doing.
He was turning something deeply personal into a medical problem.
It was easier that way.
Medicine gave him language.
Numbers.
Probabilities.
Protocols.
Risks.
Monitoring schedules.
He understood all of those things.
What he didn't understand was how to sit beside the person he loved and accept that some outcomes couldn't be controlled.
The specialist finished explaining the process.
Riley thanked them.
Adrian nodded.
They left the consultation room together.
Neither spoke until they reached the elevator.
Then Riley touched Adrian's arm.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
"You don't look okay."
"I'm thinking."
"That's what worries me."
Adrian smiled faintly.
They stepped into the elevator.
The doors closed.
Adrian stared at the floor numbers.
"I just want to make sure we're doing everything correctly."
"We are."
"What if something gets missed?"
"It won't."
"What if—"
Riley touched his hand.
"Adrian."
He stopped.
Riley looked at him.
"You aren't the doctor right now."
Adrian sighed.
"I know."
"No, you don't."
Riley's voice was gentle.
"You keep trying to control every variable."
"I want to protect you."
"I know."
"And the baby."
"I know."
Riley squeezed his hand.
"But you can't guarantee the outcome."
Adrian looked away.
That was exactly what frightened him.
They walked outside.
The afternoon air was warm.