Chapter 2 - THE BABY BEHIND THE GLASS
When I woke, the first thing I noticed was that my stomach was smaller.
The second was that Owen wasn't there.
For one terrible second, I forgot he was dead. I reached toward the empty chair beside my hospital bed, expecting to find him asleep with his boots crossed and his firefighter jacket folded over his knees.
Instead, Paige was sitting there.
Her eyes were red.
“Hey,” she whispered.
I tried to speak, but my throat hurt.
“My baby.”
Paige stood immediately.
“She's alive.”
The words broke something open inside me.
“She's alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In the NICU.”
I closed my eyes.
Paige took my hand.
“She was born at four oh-two. Three pounds, fourteen ounces. The doctors are helping her breathe, but she's fighting.”
I started crying.
“What happened?”
“Emergency C-section. You lost a lot of blood. They gave you a transfusion.”
I touched my abdomen.
A dressing covered the incision.
Pain spread through me when I moved.
“Can I see her?”
“As soon as the doctor clears you.”
I stared at Paige.
“Does she have a name?”
Paige smiled through tears.
“That's up to you.”
I knew her name.
Owen and I had chosen it during a snowstorm in January, when the power went out and we sat on the kitchen floor eating cereal by flashlight.
He'd wanted to name her after his grandmother.
I wanted something that meant hope.
We compromised.
“Hope Eleanor Reed,” I whispered.
Paige squeezed my hand.
“That's beautiful.”
Three hours later, they wheeled me into the neonatal intensive care unit.
Nothing prepares a mother to see her baby through the walls of an incubator.
Hope was so small.
Her skin looked almost translucent.
Tiny tubes and wires surrounded her.
A breathing device helped her lungs.
Her hand was smaller than my thumb.
I pressed my palm against the incubator.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
My voice broke.
“I'm Mommy.”
Hope moved one tiny finger.
I began crying so hard that a nurse brought me tissues.
“I know,” I whispered. “Daddy should be here.”
I touched the glass.
“He would have loved you so much.”
Behind me, someone cleared his throat.
I turned.
Grant Wexler stood near the doorway.
He had changed clothes.
His navy suit was gone.
Now he wore a dark sweater and looked older than he had the day before.
Two men stood behind him.
I felt my entire body tense.
“Get out.”
Grant stopped.
“Hannah—”
“Don't say my name.”
He looked toward the incubator.
“Is that your daughter?”
I moved my wheelchair between him and Hope.
“Get out.”
One of the nurses approached.
“Sir, this is a restricted unit.”
Grant nodded.
“I understand.”
But he didn't leave.
“I came to apologize.”
I stared at him.
“You slapped me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“You threatened my job.”
“Yes.”
“You insulted my dead husband.”
He looked away.
“And my daughter was born six weeks early.”
Grant said nothing.
I leaned forward despite the pain.
“You don't get to walk in here and make yourself feel better by saying you're sorry.”
He swallowed.
For the first time, I saw something like shame in his face.
“You're right.”
I pointed toward the door.
“Then leave.”
Grant stepped backward.
Before turning, he said something that made my blood run cold.
“I didn't know Owen Reed was your husband until yesterday.”
I stared.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“But I knew his name.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Why?”
Grant hesitated.
May you like
Then said:
“Because the warehouse fire that killed him was never supposed to happen.”
