Chapter 29
“Twenty minutes, and we’ll be there.” Beckett drove through Linwood’s snowy streets, working our way toward the highway.
I was torn between looking at Leena in her car seat, finally settled with her pacifier in her mouth, and Mikko at her side. His face was deathly pale like I’d never seen it before, panic written on every inch of him.
“She’s okay, Mikko.” I reached a hand back for his. “It’s not your fault.”
He stared at my hand but didn’t take it, returning his gaze back to his daughter.
Each mile we drove, each moment of silence in the car, felt like walking on glass. Everything was too sharp and painful, but I had to keep going. Had to stay present.
We pulled into the driveway of the emergency room a few minutes later, and I jumped out of the car. Mikko was already unbuckling Leena, careful not to jostle the arm she’d landed on, then lifted her out of the seat.
I grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat where I’d left it earlier. “Go get her checked in.”
But Mikko didn’t look back. He didn’t even wait for me. He walked through the doors with Leena pressed against his chest, unaware of anything else going on around him. I stood there and watched them walk inside, feeling out of place for the first time since Mikko and I had said I do.
“I’ll go park the car, then come find you.” Beckett wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I didn’t even fight the hug, putting my arms around his torso and holding on while everything felt like it slipped through my fingers.
“She’s okay, Shannon,” he whispered. “Let’s go in there and be tough for them, alright? This is his worst nightmare.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, because Leena hurt and Mikko pulling away was my worst nightmare, too. “Yeah. I can do that.”
The emergency room was relatively empty on Christmas Eve, only a family huddled in the corner around a teenager on crutches. Mikko sat at the intake counter with a pen and paper, Leena in his arms. I walked over to them, and Leena looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“Hi, baby.” I brushed her hair off her forehead. “I’m here.”
She leaned toward me, then cried when it jostled her arm.
“Let’s get her back for x-rays,” a nurse said from the doorway across from us. “Mom, would you like to bring her back while Dad finishes up paperwork?”
Mikko glanced up at me, looking as wrecked as his daughter.
I shook my head. “You go with her. I’ve got the forms.”
He stood without a word, holding Leena like she might break if he breathed wrong, and followed the nurse down the hallway.
I dropped into the chair he’d left, reading through the clipboard he’d left behind.
“Relationship to the patient?” the clerk asked, fingers typing quickly on her keyboard.
“Mother.” I didn’t hesitate, but it wasn’t exactly true. But Leena was mine, and I was hers.
I answered the rest of her questions—insurance, allergies, emergency contacts—while my voice stayed steadier than I felt. When I signed the last form, Beckett appeared at my side.
“All done?”
“Yeah.”
“Come on. Let’s find them.”
We walked the same long hallway, the lights too bright and the air too cold. I kept waiting for the version of myself who knew how to handle a crisis to show up, who knew how to go numb when everything hurt too much, but it was like that version of me had disappeared.
Mikko was waiting outside an exam room at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring at the space in front of him.
I wanted to throw myself into his arms, to take this pain and worry from him, while he also took it from me.
But the bridge between us felt too wide, too fragile to cross.
Beckett didn’t feel the same, crossing the room and pulling Mikko into a hard hug. My husband stayed rigid for a long second, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Then a rough sound escaped him—half breath, half broken cry—and his hands came up, fisting in the back of Beckett’s hoodie.
“We’re good,” Beckett said quietly. “She’s fine.”
Mikko didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either.
I stayed by the door with my arms crossed, watching the two of them and wishing I’d stepped into that space the way Beckett had.
A few minutes later, a nurse wheeled Leena toward us in a small crib-like bed, her injured arm propped carefully on a pillow. Her cheeks were still blotchy, but she was much calmer. Mikko moved before the bed even stopped moving, already reaching for her.
“Careful with her left arm,” the nurse said once we all went inside the exam room. “Let’s keep it elevated.”
“I’ve got her.” Mikko gathered Leena against his chest, settling her so the hurt arm rested safely between them. She whimpered once, then tucked her face into his neck.
The doctor followed a moment later—a woman in her forties with a tablet tucked under her arm.
“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Patel. You must be Mom and Dad.
” She glanced between us, then focused on the tablet.
“X-rays look good, all things considered. I can see a green-stick fracture of the radius, which is common in toddlers, especially active ones like Miss Leena here. Their bones are still soft, so they bend and crack on one side instead of snapping clean through.”
Mikko didn’t speak, holding Leena tighter.
“She broke her arm?” I asked, hating the word fracture. “How bad is it?”
“Not that bad, actually. These heal remarkably fast. We’ll put her in a temporary cast tonight to keep everything stable, then you’ll follow up with orthopedics in a few days for a more permanent one. Most kids are out of the cast in three to four weeks.”
“Does she need to stay overnight?”
“No. Once the cast is on and we’ve gone over the care instructions, you can take her home and be back to your regularly scheduled holiday plans.”
“What about pain?”
“We gave her some Tylenol already, and you can continue with that at home as needed. Keep her arm elevated when she’s resting, watch for any increased swelling or if her fingers start to look dusky. But honestly, kids bounce back from these faster than we do.”
I filed every word away while trying to think through everything I needed to ask. “And the fall itself—should we be watching for anything else? Head injury, anything like that?”
“She didn’t lose consciousness. No vomiting, and her pupils are equal and reactive. We’ll monitor her while the cast goes on, but I don’t see signs of anything else. It’s probably time to do away with the crib though, as terrifying as that sounds. If she climbed out once, she’ll do it again.”
Mikko still hadn’t said a word. He kept one big hand splayed across Leena’s back, his cheek resting against her hair.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself about this, okay?” Dr. Patel said. “This happens a lot, and I can tell how much you love her. She’s in great hands.”
I swallowed down the last of my fear, hearing her words even if I couldn’t quite absorb them yet.
The nurse returned with the casting supplies a few minutes later, and Dr. Patel got to work. “Alright, cutie. Let’s get this arm wrapped up so you can go home.”
Leena fussed when they started, a tired, broken sound that made Mikko’s jaw tick. I moved to the other side of the bed and brushed her hair back, trying to hold the last pieces of my fragile heart together.
“Hey,” I said. “You’re okay. Almost done.”
Her eyes found mine, and she stopped fussing.
By the time they finished the temporary cast, the Tylenol had kicked in.
Leena’s eyelids grew heavier with every minute, her pacifier moving in and out of her mouth.
She blinked slowly against Mikko’s chest, her good hand still fisted in his shirt.
With each one of her shuttered breaths, Mikko’s shoulders dropped, like the two of them were regulating each other and breathing in for the first time all night.
The nurse handed me a folder of discharge papers. “Questions before you go?”
I glanced at Mikko, and he gave the smallest shake of his head.
“I think we’re good,” I said. “Thank you.”
Beckett stepped out to bring the car around.
I gathered the diaper bag and the rest of our things while Mikko carefully stood, shifting her in his arms. She stirred at the movement, blinking up at the three of us with glassy, exhausted eyes.
Then she turned her head, spotted me, and lifted both arms, cast and all.
“Mama.”
Every last shred of my walls came crumbling down, broken beyond repair with those two syllables. The word was soft, imperfect, and completely unmistakable, even around her pacifier.
Mikko’s gaze snapped to mine, something raw and stunned flickering across his face.
I dropped everything in my arms and took her, settling her against my shoulder the way I’d done a hundred times before. She sighed, a long, contented little sound, and tucked her face into my neck like I was hers to claim.
My throat closed so tight, I could barely speak. I pressed my lips to her hair and breathed her in—hospital soap and baby shampoo and the faint trace of Mikko’s cologne that always clung to her clothes.
“Yeah, baby,” I whispered. “Mama’s got you. You’re okay.”
Mikko’s hand touched my back, between my shoulder blades. He didn’t say anything, but I felt it in that single touch.
We were okay, too.
The automatic doors opened, and Beckett stood there, his dark hair dusted with snow. He walked inside and grabbed all of our belongings I’d dropped, then said, “Ready to go home?”
Mikko’s hand slid down my back, then took the hand not holding Leena.
Our fingers interlocked, weaving together as if this was always how it was meant to be.
We walked out into the cold Christmas Eve air, Leena already half-asleep against me, her temporary cast a bright white reminder against my dark sweater.
Mikko opened the back door and helped me get Leena into the car seat, his hands steady now. When the last buckle clicked, he stayed crouched there for a second longer, one hand resting on her good arm.
“Let’s go home,” I said quietly.
He nodded, still looking at her. Then he looked up at me.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough. “For everything.”
I reached over and squeezed his wrist once. “Always.”
We climbed into the car—Beckett driving, Mikko in the front this time, while I sat beside Leena—the silence that settled over us different from the one on the way here. It wasn’t paralyzing fear, but something new taking shape that none of us knew how to name yet.
Leena breathed softly next to me. Every few minutes, my hand drifted over to check that her arm was still elevated. The rest of the time, I watched Mikko’s profile, the streetlights catching the softening lines of his face, and felt the last of the night’s panic ease.