“How do you know?” she asked softly.
“Honestly”—I exhaled, my eyes falling to the floor—“I don’t. I don’t know, Lailah. But I can’t see any other option. Because this,” I said, pulling her hand closer to my heart, “us, I can’t lose this. So, it has to be okay. Right?”
I met her gaze again just as her arms fell around me.
“Right,” she cried.
We held each other, seeking the solid tethered feeling each of us felt when wrapped around each other. I’d always feel whole when she was in my arms.
Suddenly, just as the world was righting itself in her arms and I was beginning to feel like we might be able to conquer whatever might lie ahead that night, alarms sounded, and nurses rushed in, breaking us apart. I stood, stunned and terrified. I stared down at my wife as they began moving cords and IVs, adjusting the bed for transport.
“What’s going on?” I shouted.
Lailah eyes rounded in fear.
“The fetus is under distress. We have to get her into the OR now.”
She turned to me. Sheer utter terror was written across her face as the room flooded with people. I shook my head, knowing what she was going to say before the words even left her mouth.
“Meara comes first, Jude,” she cried out before an oxygen mask went over her head. “Meara comes first!”
I shook my head, unwilling to process what she’d said.
“Her blood pressure is climbing!” someone yelled.
No, no, no. No!
None of this was happening.
They flew down the hall as I ran alongside her. Her eyes never left mine as she silently waited for me to answer her. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. No one, not even her, could make me choose between the two of them.
Lailah would always come first.
Always.
But a single word brought me to my knees.
“Please,” she said through the mask, tears streaming down her face.
I couldn’t form words. It hurt too much. Was I actually going to agree to put the life of our child above hers?
As I nodded, hoping I’d never have to make the choice, I saw her visibly relax. Her hand reached out for mine, but I never got the opportunity to take it.
“Sir, I’m sorry. This is as far as you can go,” a nurse said, blocking my way.
Lailah disappeared from my view. I watched the bed roll around a corner, wondering if that would be the last time I saw her . . . alive.
Anger burned through my veins.
“What do you mean?” I spit.
“You’re not allowed in the operating room,” he simply said.
“I’m her husband, the father. Why am I not allowed to be there during the birth?” I demanded.
“Normally, you would be,” he answered, speaking calmly, as if he were talking to a petulant child. “But in emergency deliveries like this, no one is allowed back there since general anesthesia will be administered.”
“You’re knocking her out?”
“It’s the quickest way,” he explained, his expression dark and guarded.
The quickest way to ensure the survival—of both of them.
Lailah would never have any memory of those precious first minutes—the first cry, the cutting of the umbilical cord. Neither of us would.
As I slid down the wall and waited next to the entrance of the OR for news, I prayed, prayed to whoever would listen.
Because I needed a miracle, and I needed it fast.
“I DIDN’T GET to say good-bye!” I shouted, stretching my head around, as I tried to will Jude back into existence.
But he was gone, lost behind the double doors that now separated us.
“There’s no time, sweetheart,” the nurse answered.
I lay there, watching in panic, as they scrambled around me.
Dr. Truman appeared above me, a sympathetic smile on her face. “We’re going to administer your anesthesia now, okay?”
“I don’t get to be awake?” I cried as I felt a rush of gas flood through the mask over my head.
“I’m sorry, hon. This will all be over soon,” a nurse said, appearing by my side. “Do you know what you’re having?” She gently smoothed back my hair.
“A girl,” I answered, my eyes already drooping.
The background began to fade as the lights dimmed.
“And what is her name?”
“Meara,” I answered softly.
“Good. Dream of Meara. And when you awake, this will all be over, and you’ll be a mother,” she said gently right before my eyes sealed shut, and the world disappeared.
Beep, beep, beep.
My ear registered the familiar sound before my eyelids cracked open. After years of waking up to that particular noise, I knew where I was without having to see it.
“She’s awake,” my mother said.
The hospital room came into focus.
Stark white walls surrounded me while the buzz of medical equipment whirred around me.
I was back in the hospital, back in the world I’d left behind.
Memories rushed through my mind as pain began to flood every nerve ending in my body.