Incredible Beauty (So Many Reasons 2)

As I passed the cafeteria, my stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since last night. Pushing my hunger aside, I pressed the button for the elevator.

The Intensive Care unit where Emma was being cared for smelled like disinfectant and bleach. The place was depressing with its plain cream walls, aging furniture and cracking paintwork. You think they'd liven up the place a bit with a splash of color or something. A sad looking plant sat in the corner looking neglected and a few outdated paintings hung on the wall. The whole place felt as though they were trying to subconsciously prepare you for death.

Emma was in room two; a private room with a small window that overlooked the parking lot and most of the beach. Machines still covered her and just like before it took all my will not to cry at the sight of her.

I was so determined to be strong for her.

Sitting beside her, I reached out and touched her face, my finger gently caressing her cheek. She looked so peaceful, just like she did every morning when I crept out of bed. Sometimes I would just lay there, before my alarm went off and watch her. That was the only time I could stare at her uninterrupted without her getting all embarrassed about the attention I was giving her. She didn’t understand how breathtaking she was.

Kissing her forehead, I breathed in her scent, my nose filled with her coconut body wash and shampoo. I took in every detail of her, just in case. I wanted to remember everything.

“What are you doing to me, honey? I need you, you know that, right?” I whispered softly to her, wondering if she could hear me. The doctor told me it was important to keep speaking to her, because studies suggested familiar voices do have some effect on recovery. Talking to her felt awkward, knowing she wasn’t going to talk back to me. Still, I forced myself to do it just in case it did help.

Every ‘what if’ ran through my mind over and over, as though my guilt was trying to torture me. I tried pushing them away because I was terrified of what I might do if I couldn’t get these thoughts out of my head. I hadn’t had a drink in fourteen months. This time fifteen months ago, I would’ve dealt with this kind of stress with an expensi

ve bottle of scotch. But this time fifteen months ago, Em wasn’t in my life.

Kissing her softly on the lips, I knew I couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. There were people who needed to know, who deserved to know no matter how hard it was going to be for me to make those calls. As I passed the nurses station I asked them to get me from the cafeteria if there were any changes.

Sitting in the corner of the large empty room with my coffee, I stared blankly at my phone. What was I supposed to tell them?

That she was in a coma and the doctors weren’t sure if she was going to wake up? That our baby was about to be born nearly two months early? What if she didn't make it? The idea of caring for our baby alone, sounded impossible and terrifying, I barely managed to care for Maddie and I only saw her a few days a week.

What if I couldn’t cope?

You couldn’t cope before, the little voice in my head mocked. That was the same little voice that thought Em was too good for me.

Stop it. Stop thinking the worst. I blocked the voice out, refusing to let it take me over.

Carrying my coffee and a rather sad looking egg and lettuce sandwich, I sat outside on a faded plastic chair that looked in dire need of a clean. God this place was depressing. Taking a breath, I dialed Cass first.

Please fucking answer.

“Hello?” Yes, finally! I breathed out heavily.

“Hey Cass, it’s Simon,” I began, still unsure how to break the news.

“What's wrong?” she demanded, her voice shrill. “Is Em okay?” The fifteen missed calls must have concerned her slightly.

“She's in the hospital. She had a blood clot which traveled to her brain. She's in a coma and they’re delivering the baby today.” My voice was surprisingly calm and emotionless, as if I were reading from a script.

“Oh shit, Simon. Are you okay? Can I do anything?” she asked, her tone one of disbelief.

“Would you mind calling her parents? And her grandmother? I will call Maria now,” I added.

“Sure, don't worry I'll get onto it right now, then I will come down. Where is she?”

I gave her the details and thanked her before hanging up. Having all that crap off my mind made the smallest bit easier. Now for Maria. Dialing her number, I almost wished she wouldn’t answer, so I could put off this conversation without feeling guilty.

“Simon,” Maria said, sounding happy to hear from me.

“Maria, its Em. She’s not well.” I didn’t want to draw the conversation out and pretend things were fine when they weren’t.

“Oh god, Simon, what is it? Is it the baby? Is Em okay?”

“She had a stroke. They need to deliver the baby today, so that they can stabilize her and operate to remove another blood clot,” I explained, wiping tears from my eyes.

“No…I have to come over,” she whispered.