21. Thirty One Days #2
The doctor had reassured me repeatedly that stress alone wasn’t going to harm the baby, but logic had very little power over a pregnant woman whose husband was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.
The ultrasound technician greeted me warmly when she entered the room.
I recognized her immediately. This was my third visit since the shooting. She smiled while preparing the machine.
“How are we feeling today?”
I almost laughed. What a loaded question. How was I feeling? Was it appropriate to tell her I was terrified but hopeful? I felt both of those huge emotions simultaneously.
Instead, I settled for, “I’ve been better.”
Her expression softened immediately. The entire city knew what happened to Jared.
People looked at me differently now. I could see the sympathy and pity in her eyes.
A few moments later, the room filled with the rapid rhythm of a heartbeat.
That sound was strong and steady and unapologetically alive.
My eyes immediately filled with tears. I couldn’t help it.
The sound did something to me every single time.
The technician turned the monitor slightly so I could see better.
“There goes your baby.”
For several moments, I simply stared. The image wasn’t perfect.
I couldn’t make out every feature. But I knew that little life belonged to us, the blessing I had spent years convincing myself wasn’t possible.
The technician continued taking measurements while explaining what she was seeing, but her voice faded into the background.
Instead, I found myself imagining Jared sitting beside me.
I imagined his hand wrapped around mine, and I imagined the ridiculous grin he would’ve been wearing.
I imagined him pretending not to cry while shedding a thug tear.
The image was so vivid that it physically hurt to remember he wasn’t there.
The technician must have noticed the change in my expression because she reached over and handed me a tissue.
“Everything looks perfect,” she said gently.
I closed my eyes briefly. For one moment, I simply allowed myself to sit in that world.
Perfect.
In the middle of all this grief, something was still growing exactly the way it was supposed to.
By the time I returned to the hospital later that afternoon, I carried three printed ultrasound photos in my purse and a fresh wave of determination in my chest. Jared wasn’t awake yet, but our baby was thriving.
AJ would be home from school soon, and JoJo had a tournament this weekend.
I would go with Mir to his scheduled first counseling appointment.
Channy, YaYa, and I would take Jazzy shopping for her graduation dress.
Life would keep moving whether I was ready for it or not, and I had to mother all of my babies.
I walked back into Jared’s room, settled into my chair beside his bed, and placed the ultrasound photos where he would see them the moment he finally opened his eyes. Until he proved me wrong, I intended to keep believing for both of us.
That evening, after the nurses completed their final rounds and the hospital settled into its nighttime rhythm, I found myself alone with Jared again.
Visiting hours technically ended hours ago, but nobody bothered to enforce those rules with the King and Davis families anymore.
The nurses knew I wasn’t leaving and knew his sisters and both brothers-in-law didn’t give a damn.
The room had become strangely familiar over the last month. I knew which floor tile squeaked when somebody entered. I knew exactly when the overnight nurse would bring fresh ice water. I knew which machine occasionally beeped for no reason and which one signaled something worth paying attention to.
I had learned an entirely new language in thirty-one days, one built from medical terminology, medication schedules, and hopeful glances exchanged between doctors who desperately wanted to give me better news than they had.
I sat beside Jared’s bed flipping through the ultrasound pictures again, tracing my fingers over images that still felt miraculous to me.
God laughed at all the plans I thought I had figured out.
A soft smile found its way to my lips as I looked between the sonogram and the man lying beside me.
Sometimes I wondered if our baby understood how much they were wanted.
If somehow, despite being tucked safely away inside me, they could feel the love waiting for them.
Jared talked to my stomach constantly before the wedding.
Every morning before working at the campaign headquarters and every night before bed.
He’d kneel down in front of me with those big hands spread across my belly and spend twenty minutes talking about basketball games, city politics, and all the things he planned to teach our child.
The memory nearly broke me. I swallowed hard and reached for his hand.
“You know what your child did today?” I asked quietly. My thumb brushed across his knuckles. “They flipped in my belly.”
My voice cracked slightly.
“They’re perfect, Jare.”
The tears came unexpectedly then. “I wish you could’ve been there.”
The room remained silent except for the steady rhythm of the monitors.
For a long moment, I simply sat there remembering.
I remembered prison visits and phone calls and all of the years we spent wanting this life.
I recalled every sacrifice, every disappointment, and every setback that had eventually led us here.
“You know what makes me angry?” I asked quietly.
I stared out the window toward the city lights beyond the glass.
“Everybody keeps telling me to prepare myself.” My grip tightened around his hand. “They tell me to rest. To take care of myself and to lean on my support system.”
I shook my head. “But nobody tells me how to stop loving you this much.”
The problem was that I loved Jared Davis with every piece of myself, and there wasn’t an off switch for that kind of love, and there never would be.
And as I sat there watching the rise and fall of his chest beneath the hospital blankets, I made the same promise I had made every night for the last month.
I will still be here tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that, too.
Because after waiting twenty-four years for my husband, thirty-one days was not going to be what made me give up on him.