Chapter 7 - THE LITTLE GIRL WHO ARRIVED EARLY
There is nothing elegant about fear in a hospital.
I knew that professionally.
I learned it personally at 3:17 Monday morning.
Our daughter was born by emergency C-section.
Four pounds, three ounces.
Tiny.
Furious.
Breathing.
They took her to the NICU.
I saw her for perhaps twelve seconds.
Then she disappeared through double doors.
I cried until there was nothing left.
When I woke, Rosemary sat beside me.
“Daniel?”
I asked before I could stop myself.
Her face told me.
“He's downstairs.”
“Why isn't he here?”
“He's on the phone with his attorney.”
Of course.
Then the door opened.
Daniel stood there.
He looked wrecked.
Not polished.
Not angry.
Just terrified.
“How is she?”
“Alive.”
He closed his eyes.
“Can I see her?”
I wanted to hurt him.
I wanted to say no.
Instead I said:
“She's your daughter.”
Because unlike Daniel, I would not use our child as leverage.
He sat beside the incubator for four hours.
He cried.
He put one finger through the opening.
Our daughter wrapped her hand around it.
Daniel whispered:
“Hi, Grace.”
We had never agreed on the name.
But Grace had been Harold's mother's name.
I looked at him.
“Grace?”
He nodded.
I nodded too.
For that one night, we were simply parents.
It didn't save the marriage.
It wasn't supposed to.
The next morning, federal investigators arrived at Hollis Development.
The lender had discovered additional forged documents.
Daniel wasn't arrested.
Not yet.
But his company accounts were frozen.
He came to my hospital room.
“You did this.”
“No.”
“My mother did.”
“No.”
“Jade?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
I looked at him.
“You did.”
He stared.
May you like
For once, there was nowhere to redirect the blame.
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