“I guess I just wondered if this might make you want to live a little more. Maybe try some treatment. We could try to get pregnant again later.”
I turn onto my side and tug at the three-day stubble on my husband’s chin. “It’s not that I didn’t want to live before the baby. I would stay with you forever if I could. But forever isn’t possible anymore. And I’m just not willing to put you through the horrors of fighting a losing battle with a terminal cancer patient. I wasn’t and I’m still not willing to do that. Nate, some things are worse than death. Even for those who aren’t sick. For those who have to watch. For those who survive, but can never outlive the memories. And I won’t do that to you. I love you too much.”
He nods his understanding, but refuses to meet my eyes. “So, your mind is made up?”
“It hasn’t changed,” I clarify. “I choose you and your happiness and your life over trying to keep more of mine. The cost is too high, Nate. The cost is just too high.”
The last thing I want is for Nate to think I love this child, or even the idea of this child, more than him.
“I just…it won’t be the same without you,” he explains, his voice not quite steady.
My heart splinters like a dry piece of driftwood under an unforgiving heel. “I know. I know, but it’s the only way a part of me can stay. I’ll be with you for the rest of your days now. In our child.”
I scrunch down in the bed and press my cheek to Nate’s chest, letting the tears flow between us, wetting both my skin and his.
His next words vibrate with emotion, and I bite my lip to keep my sobs inside. “I hope it’s a girl. And she looks just like you. Because I can’t bear the thought of my life without you, Lena. I…I don’t know how—”
He stops abruptly, and I wind my arms around him and hold on tight. We draw comfort from each other, as much as can be had, and we mourn together over what will never be.
We lie this way, wrapped up in each other, for nearly an hour before either of us dares to move. But it’s Nate who recovers first, always the resilient one.
“I guess we’d better get cracking if we’re gonna get this tree up today.”
“Tree? What tree?”
Nate slithers out of my arms, sits up, and then lobs a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “The Christmas tree, of course. You and I are going to do everything we can with the baby. And we’re going to tape it all.”
I sit up. “We are?” I’d planned to do videos for the baby so I can share with it all the things I won’t have a lifetime to share, but this idea… I love this idea! Our child will be able to get a glimpse of what holidays and weekends and precious moments in life would’ve been like with two parents. And he or she will get to see how much it was loved by the mother who passed away.
“We are. We’re going to decorate the Christmas tree and sing silly songs. We’re going to document everything and make a mountain of shit I can use to embarrass that kid with later in life. It’s what any responsible, loving parent would do, right?”
“Of course,” I reply, not missing a beat, giving in to a grin that feels somehow like victory. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. And I’ll take all I can get at this point.
This is the Nate I love. This is the Nate I will always love, through death’s door and far beyond. He will be full of enough life for both of us, and he will be more than enough parent and caregiver for our baby.
Not that I ever doubted him. I knew from the moment I suspected I was pregnant that my husband would be the best kind of father. Just like he is the best kind of husband. Nate doesn’t know how to fail at anything. It isn’t in his DNA.
This—this moment, this day, this man—assures me that I made the right decision in waiting to tell him. It didn’t hurt anything, but had things gone a different way, it would’ve saved him enormous heartache. I suspected it all along, but I can see now that I was right. And I’m glad. The last thing I want to do is bring him anything except happiness.
The sun has long since set by the time we plop down onto the couch to enjoy the flickering lights of our handiwork.
“Go stand in front of the tree for a sec,” Nate suggests, taking my phone from the table beside him.