Chapter 11

As soon as Barbara opened her eyes, she felt as weak and tired as the last time she’d woken in the sterile hospital room, where she still lay. Her limbs were completely numb, and all she could do was stare at the ceiling above while machines beeped at her bedside.

But her mind wasn’t on the beeping, or the IV in the back of her hand, providing her with a constant flow of whatever, or even in the many flowers that decorated the room. All she wanted was sleep, for when she slept, at least she didn’t have to think about the fact that she had lost her baby and nobody had listened to her when she’d begged the doctors to do everything they could to save her little girl.

She immediately began shivering with grief, struggling to breathe, gasping for air.

She felt paralyzed by the memory of the ambulance ride, of the pain and the overwhelming fear when the doctors had told her they would have to perform an emergency caesarean to save her, and that things didn’t look good for the child. All of those words seemed to literally choke her. Since then, she’d woken in this bed several times with the knowledge that her daughter was dead, but that didn’t make it easier this time around. She was so unhappy she could hardly bear it.

Her limp hand moved across her belly of its own accord. Her flesh felt strangely sponge-like with the baby gone. The baby who had grown right there, inside her, for the last seven months, already developing her own little personality. The baby whose fluttering movements had delighted Barbara to no end.

With a lump in her throat, she realized that she didn’t even know what Elizabeth had looked like. And she never would.

She didn’t know whether Elizabeth had possessed the dark matted hair and slightly pointed ears Hamilton and Scott had both sported right after birth. She didn’t know whether her girl had felt scared when she was brought into the world far too early, and then died within thirty minutes.

Barbara despaired at the thought that Elizabeth had been alone when she fought for her life with lungs too small and a heart too weak for life. Barbara would have gladly given her own life if she could have held Elizabeth in her arms as she died, instead of leaving her to face it alone. Instead, she’d been under anesthesia when Elizabeth had passed.

A mother should be there for her child, to protect her! But Barbara hadn’t been able to take care of her tiny daughter. She hadn’t been able to protect her, although she’d told the doctors she didn’t care what happened to her, if only they could save Elizabeth. If only they could have left the baby in her womb for a few more days, maybe the small lungs would have gotten stronger, and Elizabeth would have survived. Her chances would have been better if only she’d had a few more days! Barbara had wanted to take the risk, whatever the cost—and surely the doctors had respected her wish. Or they would have, if it hadn’t been for …

If James hadn’t told them to save Barbara, to do everything they could to ensure she lived.

Barbara stared at the ceiling.

She felt betrayed and abandoned—by her own husband. By her best friend.

She and James had wanted this baby so much. Just like with Hamilton and Scott, they’d been thrilled, couldn’t wait to hold the baby in their arms. They’d almost burst with joy at the news that they were having a girl. Even the nursery was ready months in advance—a powder-pink room worthy of their little princess. James had even put a small sign with her name on the door.

But none of that had kept him from telling the doctors that they should do everything they could to save Barbara, even if that meant the baby wouldn’t make it.

Barbara was outraged, angry, and unhappy, and she still didn’t understand how he could have said such a thing. Had he even loved Elizabeth at all? Had he thought of her? Had he thought of his wife, who would have given anything for her children? What good was her life if Elizabeth was dead?

How could she ever look into James’s face again after hearing those words from his mouth?

She’d barely been able to stand it over the last few days when he’d sat next to her bed and acted as if nothing had happened. She wanted to punch him in the face when he talked about everything under the sun but Elizabeth. Apparently, he’d already forgotten their child, while for Barbara, the world had stopped turning. Why wasn’t he broken like her? Why wasn’t he just as furious and shocked by the loss of their daughter? And why the hell hadn’t he apologized for what he’d done, what he’d said to the doctors?

Still, despite everything, she wanted to share her pain with him. But how could she if he didn’t feel pain over the loss of their child?

When the door to her room opened quietly, Barbara turned her head and, with a painful ache in her heart, saw Hamilton standing in the doorway. He was holding a sheet of paper, cautiously looking for her in the large white bed. James stood behind him with his hands on his shoulders. The alarmed expression on his face matched his son’s.

Hamilton was frozen in the entrance of the room, looking helpless, so Barbara forced a tiny smile. “Hello, my love,” she croaked.

“Hi, Mom,” his lovely voice answered. It sent a jolt of warmth through her aching body, and she longed to hug her oldest tight and never let him go.

James voice was calm and collected when he broke the silence. “Hamilton wanted to visit and see how you were doing.”

“That was very kind of you, sweetie,” she said to her son as she labored to sit up in the bed. When she finally managed it, she patted the mattress next to her. Hamilton slowly approached the bed, studying her with fear plain in his eyes.

Barbara understood his anxiety. After all, he’d witnessed her being taken away in an ambulance after she’d collapsed at the breakfast table. She reached out and tenderly placed her hand on her son’s cheek. “Did you bring me something?”

Hamilton nodded shyly and turned the sheet of paper around, showing her his colorful drawing. It was filled with flowers, which Hamilton had depicted with surprising accuracy and detail.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her thumb across his baby-soft cheek.

“It’s supposed to make you feel better,” he murmured, giving her a look of profound sadness.

She swallowed her tears and assured him, “Now that you’ve come to visit me, I’m feeling a lot better, honey.”

Her wonderful boy, who only a few days ago had asked her whether he would be allowed to sometimes push the stroller once his sister was born, now whispered with tear-filled eyes, “I’m so sorry the baby died, Mom.”

“So am I, honey.” Barbara gave him a helpless nod and immediately began to cry.

“Hamilton,” James murmured nervously and leaned over his son. Barbara could hear his whisper despite the rushing in her ears. “We agreed not to talk about the baby so we don’t make Mom sad.”

If Barbara had had a gun somewhere close by, she might have shot James in that moment. Instead, she pulled Hamilton close, and he started crying, too. He clung to her with desperate sorrow, and she held him in her arms while they both cried their eyes out.

James remained where he was and didn’t say another word.