Nicholas POV:
She nodded, giving me another sad smile before entering the room.
I was escorted to the waiting area, finding my mother sobbing in a chair with my father kneeling in front of her. He stood as I approached.
“Have they told you anything?”
I shook my head. “No. Nothing.”
He looked down at my hands. “You should clean yourself up.”
I glanced down to see what he meant and found my hands covered with dried blood. Willow’s blood.
I had her blood on my hands, both literally and figuratively. Even though Rosemary had pushed her, this was all my fault. I had brought Willow here. Brought her into my world. Left her open to attack and didn’t protect her when it happened. She was hurt because of me.
I slumped down in a chair, leaning forward and gripping my hair. And that was how the longest few weeks of my life began.
Geoffrey and Virgil showed up soon after, and my mother was given something to calm her down. I was given a bunch of paperwork to fill out, but I couldn’t sit still long enough to even read the questions. I paced around that waiting area so many times I probably made grooves on the floor.
It seemed like forever before a doctor finally came out to talk to me, and when he did, the grim expression on his face had Geoffrey and Virgil immediately by my side.
“Mr. Rowe?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m Nicholas Rowe.”
He nods. “I’m Dr. Hemp.”
“How is she? I mean… how are they?” My voice broke in the middle and Geoffrey put a hand on my shoulder.
Dr. Hemp motioned toward a chair. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. He was asking me to sit down, which meant bad news was coming. Was I going to lose my Willow? My heart? The fear and panic I felt at that moment were more overwhelming than anything I’d ever experienced before. I reached out toward him, wanting to grab the lapel of his jacket, but Virgil held back my arm.
“Just tell me,” I asked.
He sighed. “There’s no way to sugarcoat this. The situation is critical right now. Your wife suffered massive head trauma. We’ve had to put her in a medically-induced coma to try and stop the swelling of her brain. There were further complications because of the pregnancy. She started to go into pre-term labor and we had to give her medication to stop it. She and the baby are in distress at this point and the next forty-eight hours, at the very least, will be critical.”
Pre-term labor? The baby wasn’t due to be born for months. It was too soon. “What do you mean by distress?”
“I mean we’re doing everything we can to save them both, but at this point it’s difficult to say if we will be successful.”
My knees buckled, and Geoffrey and Virgil each grabbed an arm to drag me to a chair. I leaned forward, trying to keep from puking up everything in my stomach. I couldn’t see from the tears in my eyes and I couldn’t breathe from the fear of losing everything I cared about.
I flinched away from the hand on my shoulder. “Don’t touch me!”
It didn’t matter who it was: my father, Geoffrey, Virgil, or the doctor. I didn’t want any comfort. I didn’t deserve any comfort. Willow and our child were dying and it was all my fault.
The next two days were the darkest of my life. My past of being scorned by my father and Rosemary’s abortion didn’t even compare to what I felt as I sat vigil next to Willow’s ICU bed. I stayed there alone, next to her at all times, with only the sound of the machines monitoring her and helping her breathe to keep me company.
Her skin was so pale, almost translucent, making the bruises along one side of her face appear darker. The doctors came and went, checking screens and marking things on charts, but very little was said to me as we all waited for either death or some sign of recovery.
My father, Geoffrey, and Virgil all made appearances, but I wouldn’t talk to them either. There was nothing to say. In one of the long hours in the middle of the night, I resolved to follow Willow if she left me. There would be nothing left for me here if she and our baby were gone. Nothing. I held her hand and prayed, hoping God would hear me.
“Make sure to look at your dad’s hands when he comes in here.”
I barely gave Virgil a glance as he kept talking away. How many times had I told them all to leave me alone? I didn’t want anybody else in here with me and Willow.
“I’m telling you, he went over there and beat the shit out of Simon. Can you believe that?”
I gave him nothing. Not even a shrug.
Virgil groaned and pulled up a chair next to me. “Boss, you’ve got to get out of this funk. It’s a good sign that the baby seems healthy.”
Dr. Whitney had been in several times and had smiled when she told me our baby was in the clear. But how could I be happy when Willow was still in a coma and wouldn’t wake up? Did they think I would be joyful just because she was now an unresponsive incubator?
Virgil was quiet for a few minutes before prodding me again. “Can I at least bring some clothes for you from home?”
I ignored him and the fact I was still wearing the same shirt and tux pants a week later.
Another week went by. Another week of daily visits from my friends and family. Another week of not hearing Willow’s voice or seeing her pretty eyes or kissing her lips.
But I was wearing new scrubs, at the insistence of Dr. Hemp, and I had begun speaking again.
At least to Willow. “I love you,” I told her, squeezing her hand. “Do you know how much? Have I told you how much I love you?”
I took a deep breath, holding back the tears from falling from her inevitable silence.
“I love you more than sleep. More than coffee in the morning. More than ice cream and cake. More than double-digit quarterly earnings growth. More than Laura loves making you dinner. More than Courtney loves shopping.”
I squeezed her hand and nothing. The ventilator’s whooshing sound made ten new cycles. Up. Down. In. Out. One. Two. Three. I sometimes counted the passing of time by the cycles. Four. Five. Six. I kissed the palm of her hand. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. “I love you more than the sun and the moon and the stars.”
Hope was something hard to get back once you lost it, and mine was slipping away. I’d been talking to Willow for a week non-stop, and there was still no response. My voice was hoarse, my body was tired, and my heart was broken.
The doctors thought she should have woken up by now, and with each passing day she didn’t, their prognosis for her ever coming out of her coma grew dimmer. As I watched her wasting away in front of my eyes, I wished I could go back in time.
I never should have made that proposal. I was selfish, and greedy, wanting her all to myself, and didn’t care about the consequences. If I had left her alone, had been even half a gentleman, she would be happy and healthy right now.
She was young, beautiful, and strong. She had her entire future ahead of her, and I took it all away. She was in this bed-in this limbo-because of me. Because I wasn’t able to stay away.
The pain of what I’d done ripped through me with a sob. And another. And more after that. I’d never cried so hard or so long. I hunched over, my shoulders heaving and rested my forehead beside her on the bed.
“I’m sorry. So sorry for everything.” I gasped for air, but it was hard to breathe. “I love you. Please, Willow. I’m so sorry.”
I gently took her hand again, placing it in the middle of mine, and wished for the impossible. “Please, Willow.”