by Kat T. Masen
Silence falls over the speaker, and in the background, there is a small cry.
“Because…you’re the father.”
20
AMELIA
The bed is empty beside me as I finally wake from the nightmare of last night.
On the nightstand, the clock is showing ten in the morning. This is the latest I’ve slept in since who knows when, always an early riser. I twist my body sideways to reach for my phone, only for my limbs to ache like I’ve been run over by a bus.
A truck.
A god damn Boeing 747.
Instead of checking my phone, which is what I would do upon waking up, I decide to shower and change to gain some normality, then hunt down some much-needed caffeine. The last few days have been anything but forgiving on my body, and I need to get back on track. With a paper due in less than a week and classes wrapping up before summer break, there is a lot to focus on if I want to graduate with a law degree. It isn’t the end; however, I’ve come too far to let it all fall apart.
Dressing in a pair of jeans, white sneakers, and a baby blue ribbed tank, I tie my hair up into a messy wet bun and walk to the kitchen.
My parents are sitting at the large counter, as are Ava and Andy. When their eyes fall upon me, they all mirror a look of concern. It comes as no surprise, all four of them are protective over me, and after last night, I don’t blame them for worrying. If this were any other family member, I would feel the exact same. I just need to ease their worry; reassure them everything will be fine even if I have no clue what the future holds.
“You can all stop worrying about me,” I assure them, turning my back to find myself a cup to use. “I’m a big girl who needs to learn from her mistakes.”
“Honey,” Mom calls softly. “Can you sit down for a moment? There’s something we’d like to discuss.”
“Coffee first, please,” I plead, desperate from just standing next to the machine.
The machine does its magical thing, pouring me a cup of sanity with a bit of optimism sprinkled on top. With the warm cup nestled in my hands, I take a seat beside Andy and relish in the first sip. It’s glorious, heart-warming, everything I need in my life right now.
“Okay, now we can talk,” I offer with a half-smile, “but before you say anything, because I know this is about last night, I want you all to know I will get through this. This is not four years ago when I crashed my car or got addicted to sleeping pills. I’ve been hiding the truth for too long, and it’s time to have some honest conversations.”
“Amelia,” Dad begins, to stall momentarily, “something happened last night.”
I raise my brows but then start to worry. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”
My mind goes to Austin. Apparently, he was driven back to Manhattan by Uncle Julian. Was it an accident? Surely not, Andy is somewhat normal with his mannerisms to warrant anything happening to his father.
“Nikki and Will have flown to Orlando.”
“Orlando?” I question, then chuckle nervously. “Last minute trip to Magic Kingdom? I don’t understand.”
“No, Amelia,” Mom continues, “it's regarding Will.”
“Will?” I repeat, my heart racing at the possibilities. “What’s wrong with Will?”
“There was a car accident.”
I begin to choke on my words. “Oh my god, is Will okay?”
“Will wasn’t in the car. There was a woman, a woman he um…”
The four of them look at me with a pained stare. What the hell is going on? If Will wasn’t in the car, why are they staring at me like it’s the end of the world?
“What is it, Dad,” I raise my voice, annoyed at their reluctance to reveal the truth. “What happened?”
The muscles on his face are strained, unsure whether it’s of anger or concern. The fact that he is talking about Will would most likely be anger.
“There is a young woman he met back in London. She passed away in a car accident two days ago.”
My shoulders slump from the sad news but ease my worry, knowing Will is safe. “How awful.”
“It is a tragedy.” Mom lowers her head. “She was slightly older than you.”
I would never discount nor downplay the death of anyone but failed to understand why everyone is still watching me like I’m a broken baby bird. This is sad news, and I can only imagine Will must be devastated to have learned this.
“Are Will and Nikki in Orlando for the funeral?”
“Not quite,” Dad answers, then clears his throat. “Amelia, I’m going to say something which will upset you. The woman was pregnant. They saved the baby.”
“This is getting worse by the minute,” I almost cry, pressing my hand to my chest. “The poor baby.”
“Will has a son.”
My father’s words are a thousand knives into my already wounded heart. This is not possible. Indeed, some joke though their expression is anything but humorous. My face draws back while I rub my forehead and shake my head.
“Will has a son?” I repeat with a quivering voice. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s all we know at this stage,” Ava interrupts. “Millie, I’m so sorry.”
A cold sensation expands in my core making everything turn weak. Then, the unanswered questions come to the forefront of my mind, quickly trumped by the worry over Will’s mental being right now.
“I need to go see him,” I mumble, then push my chair out. “Where exactly is he?”
“Amelia, I don’t think it’s a good idea that you see him. From what Nikki says, he is very distraught right now,” Dad informs me.
“And you don’t think he needs his family?” I argue back, my tone high-pitched and panicked. “I will not allow him to go through this alone.”
“He is not alone. He has Nikki,” Ava gently reminds me.
My anger becomes a beast of its own, springing to life and unstoppable with its force.
“Will needs more than just Nikki! I repeat—I will not let him go through this alone.”
Dad nods as I pace the area trying to figure out how I can quickly get to Orlando, not for one minute worrying about anything else besides Will. My head is jumbled, unable to process the simple things like booking a plane ticket or even remembering how to drive to the airport.
“Amelia, I’ll organize the car and private jet. You can leave now.”
Mom places her hand on my shoulder. “I’m coming with you. You’re right, Will needs his family, and I can’t sit here, knowing he is in pain.”
Down the long hall, at the end of the row, Will is sitting on the plastic chair with his head buried inside his hands. His shoulders have fallen, resembling an angel with clipped wings. Unable to fly or soar, broken with no life left in him.
The sterile walls and smell of disinfectant are all around me. There is nothing warm, nor welcoming, about being in the hospital, almost designed to numb all senses to prepare you for the worst.
We found Nikki in the foyer. Mom chose to stay with her, making sure she is okay. Nikki appeared to be in damage control, on her phone trying to sort out the legalities of this matter. I didn’t want to stick around to ask questions. My head was not in it, desperate to find Will to comfort him.
With every step toward him, my chest grows tight from the mere sight of him. I desperately wish I could take all his pain away, kiss him better and tell him it’ll be all right. But the truth is, I don’t know if it will be okay. This is a life-changing moment for him, and I can’t even fathom what he is going through right now.
I take a seat beside him without saying a word. Across the hall is the neo-natal intensive care unit.
“It should have been me,” he mumbles into his hands.
“Please don’t say that. It shouldn’t have been anyone, okay?”
“But why her?”
The questions of life no one will ever be able to answer. Why did Andy’s father, Elijah, die of cancer? Why did our neighbor of almost twenty years pass away from a brain aneurysm? We o
ften ponder the “why,” though we will never know the real answer as to why anyone is taken away from us so soon.
“I don’t know, Will. No one will ever know.”
“She was a Minnesota fan,” he then tells me with a blank expression. “We argued over it. She loathed the Yankees.”
My lips curve upward, knowing how Will is a hardcore Yankees supporter and would have fought till he was blue in the face. There are several questions coming to mind, but I keep them at bay, allowing him to get his emotions and fears out in the open. Will needs all the strength right now to be able to care for a little boy, his son.
“It was just one night, at some bar in London,” he begins with, struggling to get his words out. “We were both drowning our sorrows. I just found out you were engaged, I stormed out of the meeting room, and your dad told me to let you go.”
He wrings his hands, keeping his stare fixated on the empty wall across from us.
“I went to a bar, and she sat beside me, a fellow American. I got real homesick all of a sudden. I planned to come back home, but then I thought, what is the point? You’re marrying another man. You no longer love me. We both were drowning in our sorrows that night. She was having an affair with her older married boss and quit her job because she couldn’t handle being around him. Then we went back to the hotel room.”
I swallow the lump inside my throat, forcing my pride to take a seat at the back because this isn’t about my feelings right now.
“That was it,” he finishes faintly. “One night.”
A heavy sigh escapes my lips, a complete loss of words as I hang my head with resignation. “I don’t know what to say, Will.”
“What is there to say? I had no idea she was pregnant. I don’t even remember whether I used a condom or not. All I can remember is how much I wanted to forget about you and how for just a split second, she made me forget. And now? I supposedly have a son inside that room fighting for his life.”
His pain is far greater than I ever imagined. And as I sit beside him, I can’t help but carry the burden with him. It was only one night, one night in which he was trying to forget about me. A simple life-changing moment for me when Austin proposed, a lie in which I told myself, spun a web to lead to this very moment.
It wasn’t the time to carry guilt nor castigate my foolish actions.
I need to find every morsel of strength within me to be the rock Will needs right now. For when he is in pain, I am in pain. When he bleeds, I am bleeding with him.
I place my hand on top of his, intertwining my fingers, so we’re holding hands. His palms are cold, but almost instantly, they begin to warm in my touch.
“You are not alone. You will never be alone,” I remind him. “I’m here, Will, no matter what happens. Please know that.”
“I can’t lose you,” he stammers with bloodshot eyes. “Not again.”
I shake my head and bring his hand to my lips, placing a gentle kiss.
“We’re family. You’ll never lose me,” I tell him with ease. “Can we go inside the NICU? I’d like to meet little…”
“He doesn’t have a name,” Will resigns.
I reassure him with a smile. “It’ll come when the time is right.”
We both follow the nurse’s instructions to place on the gowns and wash our hands. Nurse Becky, as she introduces herself, leads us to the incubator toward the right. With every step closer, my heart begins to ache. All these tiny babies, many on life support.
And then, she introduces the little baby boy. My eyes are drawn to him, tiny while lying with a diaper and all these tubes attached to him. He is by far the smallest baby I’ve ever seen, and with that, I begin to weep inside. Life is unfair. This little boy is fighting for his life, not even aware he’s lost his mother before he even had a chance to be held by her.
“He’s beautiful, Will,” I barely manage to say without my voice cracking. “So precious.”
As we stand in silence watching his little chest rise and fall, I say a silent prayer to the lord above. He may not have a mother alive and may be fighting this battle so early on in life, but one blessing he carries is to have Will Romano as his father.
To be loved by Will is the greatest gift in the world.
And in the end, that’s all that matters, the love that binds us all.
The rest will just have to fall into place.
21
WILL
Ten tiny fingers. Ten tiny toes.
They belong to the small body inside the incubator, a baby boy fighting for his life.
All the feelings, the emotions, were vicious and cruel, relentless with their pursuit in destroying me. The shock and sorrow strangle me; a cord wrapped around my neck, making it difficult even to breathe.
But then, it becomes too much—and I start to feel numb.
There is no sense of time, there is no tear to shed, and with that comes a strange comfort in knowing I’d abandoned all hope.
I’m barely alive.
Doctors and nurses would tell me things, but the words drown out. The words don’t change anything.
Ashley Stone is dead.
And inside this room is my son on life support.
My mother handles the questions while I sit and stare. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, far from wishing for a miracle. My head is underwater, and the idea of drowning is a welcoming thought because perhaps it will then be all over.
“Will,” my mother pleads, “we need some information to help answer a few questions.”
My words are swallowed, my tongue is tied, I’m unable to speak.
There is nothing I can do anymore.
What’s the point?
I don’t answer. I walk away, back to the sterile corridor and eyes fixated on the blank wall.
Fluorescent lights line the long hallway in which I sit, but I might as well be sitting in darkness. The spark, the light, any glimmer of hope has washed away.
This is my life now.
These are the ramifications of my actions.
As my journey grows further into a dark abyss, there is a faint light in the distance. It’s barely a glow, but I’m drawn to it, and it is warmth, and I realize it is Amelia.
She sits beside me, radiating a blanket of comfort and placing it all over my cold-ridden body. I close my eyes, my senses all coming back.
The smell of the air, the taste of my own lips.
The breath I begin to take.
The beat of my heart.
All the emotions I’d suppressed come fighting for attention. Why Ashley? Why did I deserve to be sitting here? Am I blessed to be living and breathing, or is this a punishment for my wrongdoing?
Then, it all goes silent.
All the noise drowns out.
The only sound I hear, loud and encompassing, is the quickened beat of a heart.
It’s beautiful.
A melody I’ve known for the longest of time.
And it belongs to the woman beside me—a woman who has come here despite my mistakes. There is no judgment in her fallen expression, there is only pain—a reflection of me.
Amelia is my home.
My family.
My reason to breathe.
And for as long as she is by my side, I will become strong again.
There is no longer a choice in the matter.
22
AMELIA
The doctors reassured us of the baby being in stable enough condition for us to get some rest.
At only twenty-nine weeks, the baby weighed in at only three pounds. His vital organs are much more developed than those of babies born earlier. However, the doctors were adamant he would need to stay in the NICU for weeks, closer to what would have been his due date. On the stipulation if there are no health concerns or complications.
“How about I find a hotel for you to get some rest?” I suggest, placing my hand on Will’s arm.
Since the moment he found out, he hasn’t slept a wink. That was two days ago. His eyes are ringed
in dark circles. The white surrounding his pupils turned bloodshot. Nikki is in no better condition, extreme fatigue aging her usually flawless skin.
He releases a heavy sigh, simply nodding his head.
“You too, Nikki,” Mom tells her softly.
They both agree without an argument. Just like the doctors told us, there isn’t much we can do right now. The baby is stable and progressing at the expected rate for how small he is.
Next to the hospital, there are a few hotel chains in which we can stay. I quickly hop on my phone, booking three rooms—one for Nikki, another for Will, then one for Mom and me to share if needed.
Much like Mom and me, Will and Nikki flew in empty-handed without a spare change of clothes, let alone a toothbrush. I send Ava a text, asking her for help to organize clothes, toiletries, and anything Nikki and Will may need in their rooms. Only to remember Mom and me. I send another text, asking to add that onto the list as well. When it comes to emergencies, Ava is the person to go to. Always with a solution and able to remove herself from the situation in order to complete a task.
Ava: I’m on it. Hope you’re okay, Millie xx
With Will distracted with everything going on, I pass the information to Nikki. She embraces me with a grateful smile, then takes her son to get some much-needed rest.
Once they are gone, I sit beside Mom on the plastic chair.
“I know this is a lot for you,” Mom softly says. “But I want to tell you that you’re doing amazing.”
I rest my head on her shoulder. “It’s almost like with Will. I don’t even think. I just act. It’s always been that way with us, even when I was a kid.”
“I know, honey,” she concurs with a knowing simper. “I’ve seen it.”
“Is that the same with you and Dad?” I ask, pondering life while medical staff walks past us with a sympathetic smile. “I meant to ask, was it always just this force with you? Like nothing makes sense but also makes perfect sense at the same time?”
