Overnight Wife

The rest of the crew nod, sobered by the disaster. But my mind is a million miles away from here. I need to get to Mara. I need to be with my wife, to make sure that she’s all right, after everything that just happened.

And along the way… I need to find out what this letter is all about.

I march out of the auditorium, tearing into the envelope as I go. A little part of me feels bad about snooping. But it has my name on it, after all. She clearly intended to give it to me, before this whole mess happened, and interrupted whatever she’d had planned.

And with her in the hospital, I need any sort of connection to her I can reach for. Any way to reassure myself that what the paramedic said on his way out of the doors is true—that she’s going to be fine. That my wife will be okay.

But whatever I expected when I tear into the envelope and read her neat handwriting on the custom card she made for me, it wasn’t this.

John,

The night we met, I let loose for the first time in my life. The next morning, I thought I should regret it. I thought I’d made a mistake. But I didn’t. Letting you into my life—letting you change my whole life—was the best accidental choice I ever made.

Now, I think we might have made another one. A similar one, one that will change everything… but which might just be the best accident we could have hoped for.

I know I told you I wasn’t ready for children. And that’s still true. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ready. But apparently the world had other plans for us. Because I’m pregnant, John. I’m carrying your child.

And, if you’re up for it too… I’d like to keep it. I’d like to start a family with you.

As long as we both agree, we’ll keep pursuing our careers too. We won’t lose sight of ourselves. No matter what happens, this will make us stronger, John. Just like everything else we’ve already faced, together.

I love you.

Beneath it, she included a drawing. It’s me, I can tell that from a glance, but it’s a me I’ve never seen before. Looking at that drawing, at how she views me when I look at her, I see a whole new side of myself—because that’s what she brings out in me. A man I didn’t even know existed before I met her.

A better version of me.

And now… My heart leaps. A huge smile breaks out across my face. She’s pregnant. My wife is pregnant. We’re going to have a baby together.

But as soon as the news hits me, an alternate, terrifying thought occurs. Because I remember her injury, the stretcher. What if something happened? What if she’s hurt worse than the paramedics thought? What if…?

I can’t even allow myself to finish the thought. I refuse. Instead, I stuff the envelope back into Mara’s purse with the rest of her things and practically sprint toward the parking lot. I need to get to the hospital. I need to make sure my wife and our baby—our baby, oh my God, we’re having a baby—are safe. I need to protect my family. Because now, no matter what happens, they come first, always.

15

Mara

“Mara?”

The voice is far off, far away from me, somewhere floating in my subconscious. It’s familiar, reassuring. But I don’t need to worry. Not here, not where I am. I’m lying in a field of tall grass, on a picnic blanket, cradled in my favorite place in the world—against John’s chest, with his arms around me, protective, secure. Beside us on the blanket, a smiling little ball of joy beams up at us, gurgling happily. Our baby, I know, without needing to be told. That’s our child, with us.

We’re a family. Whole and complete.

It’s a beautiful dream. A happy one.

“Mara!”

So why is somebody interrupting it? I shift against John’s chest and lean back to look up at him. His mouth moves, his lips forming words.

“Mara, can you hear me?”

It’s John’s voice I’m hearing, I realize, belatedly, somewhere in a distant part of my brain that’s slowly clawing its way back to reality. Back to consciousness, and to a world I thought I’d checked out of for the time being. I shift my body, and groan at the feeling. I can feel bruises all over me. My whole left side flares with pain, it’s hard to move my left arm, and my head throbs like crazy, as if someone stuck the whole thing in a giant wood press, crushing my brain between two hard blocks.

“Mara, honey.” John’s voice sounds a little louder now, a little clearer. I roll toward him, moaning softly, and I feel his fingers twine through mine. Not the John of my dream, hazy and imagined, but the real one. Here, with me, beside me.