“Its fine, Claire. I will see you tomorrow.”
As I lay in bed, I thought about Emma and how she felt threatened about Claire. Then there was Claire’s comment this evening. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there was something to Em’s concerns.
The funny thing was for so long I’d hoped things between Claire and I would repair themselves. It wasn’t as though I fell out of love with her after the affair, it had taken months for me to accept that we just weren't meant to be together.
Meeting Em, I finally felt as though I had really moved on. I finally felt something for someone else. Did I still feel something for Claire? Sure, I felt love on some level for the mother of my child. However, it was nothing compared to the love I felt for Em. Nothing could ever match that.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emma
I sat forward, gasping for air.
My first nightmare since I’d come out of the coma and it had nothing to do with Moosly. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d dreamt about something other than the attack. This was no less frightening though. I had dreamt I was unconscious. People were talking around me but I couldn’t rouse myself to speak back.
I pressed my buzzer. It was just after midnight and now I was pretty sure my night’s sleep was ruined. I wondered if I could go and see my baby.
After waiting a few more minutes, no nurse appeared. Knowing it was a bad idea, I pulled one foot from under the warmth of the covers and set it on the cold vinyl floor, followed by the other. Grabbing my IV pole, I put my bathrobe over my shoulders and set off down the hall.
The first problem I encountered was that I had no idea where the nursery was. Eventually I stumbled upon the elevator at the end of the floor. Once inside, I made my way down to the ground floor, where I was able to look at the guide. It was only then I realized I hadn’t taken note of my room number or what floor I was on.
Crap. At least I now knew the nursery was on level two, west wing. I’d walked for less than five minutes and already I was exhausted. Not only that, the panic of not knowing how to get back to my room was beginning to rise. I found it interested that I was more panicked about not knowing where my room was than I was about being out of my room.
Something I hadn't even thought to ask Simon was exactly how much progress had I made with my agoraphobia over the past few months? Based on my feelings right now, I’d have to say quite a bit. The nervousness was there, but it wasn't the only thing on my mind. I walked back inside the elevator, pressing the button, letting myself out on level two. I followed the signs to the neonatal nursery. That’s where I guessed she was, being premature, but for all I knew she could have been in the normal nursery.
I passed a large room with a huge window. Inside was what could only be the neonatal ward. The door was guarded by two nurses sitting at a desk. I looked around. There was no other way in.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the desk. The younger of the two nurses looked at me curiously.
“Are you lost?” she asked me sympathetically.
“Well yes,” I admitted, “my daughter is in here. Can I see her?” I asked hopefully. The younger nurse eyed the older one. “Please. I-I was in a coma. I only met her yesterday,” I added. Her face softened.
“Emma, right? Mirabella’s mom?” she asked. I nodded. Did everyone know who I was?
“Come in. we’re not supposed to be doing this,” she shot me a look, “and as far as I know you shouldn’t be wandering the halls at this time of night, especially after your type of surgery.”
I blushed, feeling like a kid who had skipped school and gotten caught. I followed her into the room. The few babies I could see were all hooked up to various machines. We passed one baby, a little girl judging by her pink blanket, who could have comfortably sat in the palm of my hands. Her skin looked so thin, so tender.
“Eleven weeks premature. She was born earlier than your little one, only this
little girl has had a barrage of issues, from underdeveloped lungs to a heart infection and kidney failure,” said the nurse sadly.
“Will she be okay?” I asked, watching as her tiny heart worked to pump blood through her body.
“We don’t know. Even if she does survive, she will most likely have developmental issues and health problems,” she smiled gently at me. “You're very lucky, Emma. Mirabella was remarkably well developed for such a premature delivery. She might have some breathing issues such as asthma, but apart from that she should be a healthy, normal little girl.”
The nurse stood beside a crib and inside I could see Mirabella sleeping. Sitting down on the chair the nurse had carried over, I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her hands were so tiny, her little fingers would struggle to grasp around the width of my pinkie finger. Her lip trembled as she breathed out as her eyes twitched.
I couldn’t believe this. No matter how often I said it to myself, seeing my little baby in front of me made me want to cry. All the worries I had of not bonding with her disappeared as soon as I was near her. I’d do anything for her, anything.
I sat next to her watching her sleep for what felt like hours. I’d been dozing off in the chair when her little cry woke me.
“Do you want to pick her up?” asked the nurse gently. I jumped, not noticing her approach. My heart thumped as I nodded and reached into the crib and lifted her into my arms. Her head rested comfortably in my elbow. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell.
“Can you take a picture?” I asked the nurse shyly. She laughed, grabbing the cell from me.
“Smile,” she said, as she snapped the camera. I took back the cell from her outreached hand and slipped it back in my pocket. “I let the nurses on your ward know you were here, too.” She added, winking.