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  After exchanging rings and signing the marriage license I lead her to the middle of the gazebo where I proposed. “Phoebe Wells-Nichols, may I have this dance?” It couldn’t be more perfect. ‘Everything’ by Michael Bublé begins and swaying with her my arms, I whisper in her ear, “They would’ve been happy.”

  “I know. I’m happy, and that’s all they ever wanted.”

  “It’s what I’ll always make you.” I leave one hand on her back bringing the other one to cup her stomach and dance with my wife.

  Chapter 28

  Phoebe

  Month six of pregnancy is draining. I’ve had such an easy time until now. I can’t keep my eyes open, can’t keep food down, every inch of my body aches, and I’m short of breath. I’m not even that big and have continued teaching at the studio until this last week. Luckily, as soon as Brett learned he was going to be an uncle he ditched the big life and moved to Georgia and is picking up my slack. James has enjoyed collaborating with Luke on projects, and it has kept Luke occupied so he isn’t a total basket case. I’m headed to take a nap when I suddenly feel dizzy and can’t catch my breath. I let my body slide against the wall until I’m in a seated position and try to control my breathing. The cramping in my stomach isn’t helping my anxiety level. I crawl into the room, grab my cell phone to call Luke. He’s just outside, but I can’t scream. “Luke, something’s wrong.”

  I hear the back door slam and within seconds he’s on the bedroom floor next to me. He runs his hands over my stomach, arms, and when he gets to my head he yanks his hand back. “You’re burning up. What happened?”

  I start crying … I’m that miserable. “I don’t know.” I have to stop to get a breath. “Can’t breathe.” My hysterics are only making it worse.

  “Calm down. Breathe, Twinkle, I’ve got you.” He gently lifts me and carries me to the car. Once we arrive at the hospital his resolve slips. They aren’t moving fast enough, he calls Dr. Marks’s office demanding for him to be sent to the ER and speed things along. According to Luke’s world, I’m VIP, and stitches to the head aren’t as important as his pregnant wife. Finally, I’m brought back to a room where blood is drawn, a monitor placed on my heart, an ET looking thing on my finger, oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, and then everyone leaves but Luke. He isn’t going to have any hair left the way he keeps grabbing it. “Are you feeling better?”

  Not at all. I can’t tell him that, so I just nod my head. I’m sleepy but can’t rest because I feel this pain in my chest that’s stifling. Dr. Marks comes in about thirty minutes later followed by a resident doctor who is on-call for the OBGYN. “We’re going to hook you up to a fetal monitor, and I’ve already called your obstetrician, Phoebe.”

  “What’s wrong?” Luke immediately wants all the information.

  Dr. Marks shakes his head, not looking too happy to be in this room. “Her blood work is alarming. I’m going to look at some different aspects but the fever needs to be managed.”

  “What’s wrong with her blood work?” I’m still lying here, watching this unfold like I’m not present. I feel like I’m witnessing someone else’s life before me.

  “Just going off the initial reports, it looks like her leukemia is back. I’m waiting on a more detailed report and some labs that aren’t back yet.” Dr. Marks is staring at me; I can see the sadness hiding behind his clinical report.

  “No!” Luke won’t accept it this time if it’s true.

  “We have to monitor the baby because of the fever, I’ve ordered a few tests on her heart, but we’re limited with testing because of the fetus.”

  I rip the mask off my face, “It’s not a fetus. This is our baby. Everything will be fine, Luke.” I hold out my hand for him, needing him to comfort me, tell me it will be okay. He can make it okay for me, for us.

  “Put the mask back on, Twinkle. Come on,” he puts it back over my face, softly stroking his hand across my head, soothing me. “Just concentrate on my little guy in there, I’ll worry about everything else.” He’s so sure we’re having a son. Both of us agreed we didn’t want to know, but right now, I’d give anything to know. This can’t be like the last time. We’ve come too far, overcome problems most couldn’t, and fucking cancer can’t wreck my life . . . again. “Don’t cry. It’s not like before,” still running his hand over my head, like so many years before.

  “Phoebe, Lucas, don’t get ahead of yourselves. Let me go see what I can find out.” Dr. Marks leaves the room, and the doctor left in the room finishes hooking up the fetal monitor. In the silence of this cubicle, in the turmoil of emotions and fears, our baby’s heartbeat echoes all around us. I beg my parents, God, and anyone else who will listen to me to not take my baby. Not again.

  Luke sits silently, listening to the steady rhythm our child is emitting, letting the tears go unchecked down his cheeks. This will break him; there’s no coming back from this. Crawling up beside me, he cradles our child and my body, holding on and showing no sign of letting us go. “Luke, we need to talk about this.”

  “No, Phoebe. Not until we have answers.” He isn’t having any of this.

  “Promise me this time, if there is a choice, you’ll choose correctly.” I need him to hear me.

  “Not fucking now, Phoebe. Don’t do this to me.” He’s shaking, the sobs wracking his body.

  I place my hand over his on my stomach. “This is us together, Luke. We created him together, and he deserves to live. We promised we would be together, and he is as together as we can get.” I know he’s listening, his sobs growing stronger, uncontrollable. “Promise me, Luke. Promise me, damn it.”

  “No,” he shouts at me. His voice is hoarse from the tears, “I have you both, and I’m keeping you both. There’s not a choice here. This. Is. Not. Happening.” I allow him his denial, and I hope he’s right. In the end, I have faith in him that he will choose correctly.

  We continue to stay in silence, connected as closely as we can while we wait for answers. I have an EKG done, my temperature is taken again, and when Dr. Marks walks back in I am about to crawl out of my skin. “Okay, good news. I looked at the blood under the microscope and additional tests show it isn’t leukemia. Phoebe, you have mononucleosis.” I take a deep cleansing breath. “You aren’t out of the woods. You’ve developed myocarditis, which is inflammation of the heart. It can right itself, or it could have been there undetected for a while due to chemotherapy. Right now, it’s weakening the heart muscle, but sometimes it can reverse itself once the infection is under control. We’re admitting you until the fever is stable, plenty of rest, fluids, and we can reassess after twenty-four hours.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. He nods and leaves us to ourselves. “Luke, did you hear him?”

  He brings his forehead up to mine, “Yes.” His grin stretches across his face, his eyes still wet from the tears he’s shed, but he’s never been more beautiful to me. I pray for a little boy, just like his father.

  Rest and taking it easy for the remainder of pregnancy. Two and a half more months. There wasn’t any further weakening of the heart muscle, it is stable for now, and once the fever broke, I was allowed to come home. It doesn’t bother me to be stuck at home resting because I am fucking exhausted. All the time.

  I’m not restricted to stay in bed, but Luke is consistently suggesting it. He’s been neurotic, overbearing, caring, and downright unrelenting since I’ve been home. Drinks every two hours, food every three, naps at least four times a day, and he refuses to be more than fifty feet from me. Brett has taken over the studio and James is helping me with the nursery. From my throne I’m allowed to dictate colors, furniture placement, how I want the clothes arranged, but that’s it. I rub my swollen belly and am rewarded with a swift kick; reminding me all of this is worth it.

  Talking names hasn’t been as hard as I figured. After a few rounds of eliminating and disagreements we both like Jayson for a boy, and Emma for a girl. “We don’t need a girl’s name, Phoebe.”

  I roll my eyes, “Yes,
Luke, we do.” They both mean a version of whole or complete . . . and it’s perfect because they helped heal us. “You know Emma is a version of my mom’s name.”

  “We’d be lucky if she is anything like you or your mom. Either way, our child will have the best from both of us.”

  I’ve had a burst of energy this last week; I guess because I’ve been nesting for almost three months, this is my last hurrah before I get to meet this little person. The myocarditis hasn’t resolved itself, and after giving birth they will see about permanent medication for my heart. We had hoped it would stabilize once the infection was out of my system, but that didn’t happen.

  Folding receiving blankets, little socks, and smelling all of the baby stuff, I feel my first contraction. It’s close to three o’clock in the morning, and I was able to sneak out of bed to sit in the nursery, wanting to do something on my own. I move from the floor to the rocker, gently allowing it to sway back and forth. “Hey little one,” I smile at my stomach. “You’ll be here soon. I’m going to be the best mommy in the world. You know why? Because I had the best role model. Your daddy and I will love you so much. You’re our world, little one. I can’t wait to hold you, love you, and watch you grow. Just go easy on Daddy for a bit, he tends to get worked up. You’ll see soon enough.” Another contraction hits, and I feel a trickle of water down my leg. I know next time I speak to the baby, I will be staring down at him or her, sharing my words of wisdom. Standing slowly, I shuffle down the hall to wake up Luke and get this show on the road. Our family will begin to grow today.

  Chapter 29

  Luke

  Feeding her ice chips, wiping the sweat from her face, rubbing her back. I can handle all of that, what I can’t handle is seeing her in pain, hearing her scream out from the contractions. I’m slowly losing my mind and have to take a break letting my mom take over every so often. Seven long painful hours she has been in labor and only progressed to seven centimeters. She’s tired, having to use the oxygen more often than not, and she needs a fucking break.

  I watch her suffer through another contraction, feeling her squeeze my hand so hard I think she may crush it. “Breathe, Twinkle. You have to take a breath.”

  “I know, but it hurts.” She cries. She isn’t yelling and crazy like I have heard, more resigned to doing this, and she knows what to expect. The contraction ends, and she gulps in air. “You still think it’s a boy?”

  “Yep!” I tell her proudly.

  “What are you going to do if it’s a girl?” she teases me. Truth is, I don’t care what we have, as long as the baby is healthy.

  “Don’t talk nonsense like that woman. I can only handle one woman, and you’re filling that position.” I wink at her. A loud beep comes from a machine along with red lights and I’m trying to figure out what this one is monitoring. I watch as her eyes unnaturally roll back and her head lolls to the side. Nurses and physicians run in, pushing me back from the bed, shouting orders.

  “Prep her for C-section. Heart rate dropping, and baby’s in distress. Not enough oxygen.” She’s given medicine through her IV, and all I can hear is BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. More shouting. “Mr. Nichols,” her doctor approaches me. “Her heart is weak, it can’t handle the stress. It’s causing undue stress to the baby, and we have to do an emergency C-section. They will bring you papers to sign and show you where to wait.”

  “It’ll be fine. Her heart will be okay once the stress is off it?” I ask. I need answers.

  “That’s the plan, but we have to move now.” I back up, grabbing for anything to support me. I watch as they wheel her bed out of the room, she disappears from my sight. Papers are shoved in front of me, and I sign.

  I grab the nurse before she leaves. “Save her, please. That’s my life.” She pats my shoulder and leaves the room. My parents rush in the room, my dad leading me to the couch.

  “Her heart. Weak. Baby not doing well.” I can’t explain it to them; it doesn’t make sense to me. My mom leaves the room and comes back in telling us we need to go to the waiting area in the hallway, that’s where we wait for the doctor and any updates.

  I hear every tick of the clock hanging on the wall that is the only sound in this room. Each second that ticks by feels like a dagger to my heart. I don’t feel her with me, I don’t feel her love surrounding me, and I need anyone to tell me what is going on. Her obstetrician appears in the darkened room, and I jump up. Rushing to him, I try to read his expression.

  “Mr. Nichols,” when his eyes dart down for a fraction of a second I want to flee. I don’t want him to open his mouth again. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could; Phoebe’s heart was just too fragile. She died while delivering your daughter.” I want to punch him, but instead I sink to the floor. I stare up at him from his knees, urging him to tell me ‘but we were able to save her.’ I wait and wait but he never says those words. “Your daughter is in the nursery, she’s healthy, but she’ll need you. Have them call me if you have any questions, and again I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I beg to trade places with her, I would give my life to have Phoebe take another breath. To hold her daughter. Beating my fists on the floor, I scream out for her, my pain bouncing off the walls in the corridor. I need her. This can’t be real, just put me out of my misery. I wish I am dead with her.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder, “You need to get up and go be the father she knew you would be. You can break down later, but don’t do this right now.” Brett speaks behind me. My parents must have called him. I want to tell him to shut up, but I know he’s right. She would hate me if she saw me right now. I accept his hand and allow him to pull me up. One foot in front of the other I follow the signs to the nursery. Never once speaking to anyone. I sign in and get my bracelet, and I am ushered into a private room. A nurse comes in holding a bundle of pink in her arms and nods at the chair for me to take a seat. Placing my daughter in my arms I look down and see Phoebe. The same tuft of white blonde hair her mother had, her gorgeous smooth skin, and when she blinks her eyes, the blue reflects back in my green. “Emma Marie Nichols, I’m your daddy.”

  The funeral is excruciating. If I didn’t have my little girl on my chest, holding the shattered pieces in, I wouldn’t survive it. I get it, now. All those years ago the struggle she had when I chose her that day in the hospital. She wanted to leave her mark on me, imprint it within me forever. She did. I run my hand over my daughter’s head, and while I will never have Phoebe again physically, I hold the best part of her in my arms. It won’t be easy, but she is still alive in our daughter.

  It’s Emma’s fourth birthday. Four years ago death mixed with life, and I hold her in my arms as I take her to visit her mother. She doesn’t understand it, but she will grow up knowing her. Each night, instead of a bedtime story, she gets a memory of me and her mother. My heart will never heal, but it’s mending. She lives on through her blonde-haired blue-eyed ballerina. She dances like her mom, acts like her mom, and if possible, is just as beautiful as her mom. Phoebe left me with the biggest piece of her, and I once again get to protect her, love her, and cherish her . . . in Emma. She may have left me, but she gave me a gift that I will never be able to thank her for. I put Emma down, and place the flowers on her headstone.

  “I forgive you, Phoebe. I love you, always.”

  Chapter 30

  Phoebe

  I stare at him, softly snoring in slumber. I’ve tried waking him up for ten minutes and whatever is holding him in sleep has a grip on him. I wrap my hand around his arm again, shaking. “Luke, it’s time.”

  His eyes snap open, disoriented and wild, searching the room. His gaze lands on me, “Phoebe?”

  “Yes, babe. It’s time. Our little bean is ready to make his appearance.”

  “Her. It’s a girl.” I smile at him. He reaches up and caresses my cheek, tears in his eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “I think so. I just had the weirdest dream. I’ll tell you about later.” He still doesn’t stop staring at me, touching
me like he can’t believe I’m here.

  “C’mon sleepyhead. My water broke.” He jumps out of bed, but before he gets three steps he turns around and crushes me to his chest.

  “I love you, always.” His breath hitches on the last word.

  “I love you too, Luke.” I’m confused as to what is going on with him. I figured he would be on cloud nine, walking on air, and driving like he’s a race car driver. His arms don’t loosen around me.

  “Don’t leave me. I can do it, I know I can raise our daughter, and she will eventually be my happiness, but I need you. She needs you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I kiss his neck, reassuring him of something, I’m just not sure what. He remains quiet and somber as we drive to the hospital, and I can’t reach him. He’s lost in his own world, and I’m sure it’s nerves.

  I’m taken right to Labor & Delivery and surprised that I’m already eight centimeters. So much for the glorious pain medicine I was counting on. Luke still hasn’t let go of my hand, and it’s like a lifeline. “You know I’m okay, right?” He’s staring at the heart monitor and the baby monitor.

  “Yes,” he tells me. His hand not leaving mine and his eyes darting back and forth.

  “I need you to be here … with me.”

  He stops staring at those machines, “You died. In my dream, you died, right in this fucking room. I’m scared.” I don’t know what he’s talking about, or what to say to that admission. “I saw her, our little girl. Your heart gave out, and you died. You told me last year you wanted to leave your mark on me, I can promise you Phoebe; you have. You are permanently engrained in my heart and soul. Always you.” He’s shaking.