“I’m her fucking husband!”
“Excuse me, husband? I don’t even know where to begin with—”
“Book the next flight for me.”
Overwhelmed with panic, I grab my phone and dial Nikki’s number.
Voicemail.
I dial Adriana.
Voicemail.
I try every fucking person in New York.
Voicemail.
My grip tightens on my phone as I press it against my forehead, willingly my eyes to close. My chest begins to tighten, terrified of what state she’s in, my imagination running wild with possibilities.
Kate returns fifteen minutes later with my flight details. The plane is leaving in two hours from a different wing as she’s booked a private plane. I don’t care about the cost, I need to get back to the States now.
The hours pass by in a blur. Occasionally, I nod off, but my mind refuses to shut down. Still haven’t heard from anyone, and this cold-shoulder nonsense will be the death of me.
It’s just after midnight when I run through the doors of the hospital. The nurses quietly sit behind the desk. They see me and immediately tell me, “No visitors.”
I throw some money at them to which they demand even further that I leave. One goes as far to call security, not that I care. A doctor walks past, and I grab him by the coat, begging him for answers, for anything.
“So, you must be the boyfriend?” he questions, looking at the chart.
“Husband,” I correct.
“She was admitted this afternoon with breathing difficulties. Chest X-rays found she has a collapsed lung caused by pneumonia. She’s severely dehydrated, so we have her on an IV and a mild sedative to help her sleep. I think your biggest concern must be the baby. We ran the tests, and all is well.”
The medical jargon isn’t lost on me, but my body stiffens, paralyzed with the one word he said. Did I hear correctly? You can’t have heard that. You haven’t slept properly, and your mind is completely fucked.
I rub my ear, making sure it’s clear. “Excuse me… repeat the last part?”
“We ran the tests, and all is—”
“No,” I berate him. “The bit before that.”
“Your concern for the baby?” He quirks his brow. “Sir, are you okay?”
My eyes widen, the blood draining from my face. I grab the chart and find the room number—eight.
I almost gravitate to her room until I’m standing inside watching her lay on the bed with her head facing the other way. I fall on my knees beside her, hold onto her hand, placing it against my mouth. The smell of her skin is enough for me to break down inside. I miss her like fucking crazy, and now she’s carrying my baby.
Charlotte is carrying my baby.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?”
I remain by her side, clutching onto her hand like my life depends on it. Only the persistent sounds of the monitors beeping, the glorious sounds of life, echo in the room. In the dark of the night, the stark white walls and linen can’t be seen, only the warmth that radiates off her skin, but that’s all I need—her and now our baby.
A baby.
The word replays over and over in my head. A human being is growing inside her that’s half Charlotte and half me.
My emotions are scattered. I’m not ready to be a dad, but then part of me knows I’ll have Charlotte for the rest of my life, and we will raise our own family and grow old together.