Beautifully Broken 2: If You Leave

“Mila, just look at me,” he begs, pushing her hair out of her face. He tries to wipe the blood from her cheek, but he only makes it worse. “Please wake up,” he mutters helplessly.

There is blood everywhere.

Way too much blood.

“She’s not breathing,” Pax suddenly blurts, dropping his ear down to listen at her mouth. “She’s not breathing. Jesus Christ.”

Maddy scrambles to try to help from behind us, to try to see, just as I pull into the parking lot. Before I’ve even come to a stop at the curb, Pax has the door open and is laying Mila out on the sidewalk.

“Breathe, baby,” he begs as he kneels and gives her a breath. “Breathe.”

He’s frantic and desperate and covered in Mila’s blood.

“Pax,” Maddy cries, pulling at his arm. “We’ve got to get her inside. We don’t have time for this.”

She pulls at him, but Pax isn’t thinking clearly and he shakes her off, turning back to Mila, trying to breathe into her mouth.

He’s interrupted by a team of people bursting through the doors with a gurney. Pax lunges up with Mila in his arms and thrusts her at the medical team.

“She’s not breathing,” he tells them in desperation. “Please—help her.”

The doctors and nurses close in around Mila as they lay her out on the gurney and rush her inside.

As they do, Maddy clings helplessly to the side of the gurney. Looking down, I see that Mila’s eyes are still closed and she is as pale as I’ve ever seen anyone. More terrifying than that, though, are the words coming out of the nurses’ mouths.

She’s unresponsive.

There’s no pulse.

We need the paddles.

Maddy flinches as she hears them, tears running down her cheeks.

“It’s going to be all right,” Maddy tells her sister as the team shoves the gurney through the double doors and out of our sight. “Mila, you’re going to be all right.”

“Mila, I’m here!” Pax calls after her, when a nurse blocks his way. But Mila stays motionless. She couldn’t hear any of it.

Fuckkkkkk.

I’ve never felt so helpless as when I watch them take her away. I know there’s nothing I can do and from the looks of all that blood staining the sheets covering her, I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can do. There’s no way she’s not going to die.

There’s so much blood.

Hell. All of a sudden the blood reminds me too much of that night in Afghanistan and my senses threaten to overtake me: the smell of blood, the taste of fear, the feel of panic.

The smoke.

The death.

The bloody children.

I fight it off, trying to breathe.

Maddy needs me. I can’t lose my shit.

I take a deep breath, sucking in the fear and releasing it on the exhale.

I suck in the panic, releasing it on the exhale.

It’s a trick Dr. Hart taught me and it seems to work.

By the time Maddy collapses into my arms a minute later, turning her face into my chest, I’ve calmed down. I can breathe again.

I’m fine, even if Mila is not.

What the fuck? Where’s the justice in that?

Maddy hides her face as if she’s hiding from what is happening, hiding from the world, hiding from death. I choke as I realize something.

Loss is her greatest fear. She just lost Tony and now she might lose Mila too.

Her bad thing has caught her.

I close my arms around her. It’s the only thing I can do.

* * *

“She’s going to be all right,” Maddy says for the hundredth time as we all pace in the hospital waiting room. “She’s going to be fine. I can’t lose her too. I just can’t. She’ll be fine.”

I don’t even think she knows she’s speaking. The words just automatically come out of her mouth at timed intervals, wooden and lifeless. I agree with her. I tell her that Mila will be fine, even though I don’t believe it myself. Maddy doesn’t even notice.

Pax is in his own world. They wouldn’t let him back with Mila and he’s like a caged lion out here. His muscles coil as he walks in tight circles. The tension in this room is palpable. I can taste the fear in the air, but no one acknowledges it.

“They’re doctors,” Maddy tells Pax. “They can fix her.”

Pax looks up, his eyes completely stark, but doesn’t answer as he paces past Maddy.

In turn, Maddy paces past me.

It’s a continuous, nerve-racking cycle.

We’re left out here alone, wondering what the f**k is going on. The worst thing is the not knowing. But knowing will be even worse. I feel so certain about that. Because there’s no way Mila can survive.

There’s no way.

And as I look at Pax and see how his face is drawn, how he’s so pale, how he’s pacing and flexing his hands and trying to breathe, I know he knows it too.

His bad thing has caught him too.

The very worst possible thing.

Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Then an hour. Then two. A nurse comes out a time or two to tell us that the doctors are still working, that they’ll come back out when there’s more news.

More time passes.

I get Pax and Madison coffee. I get them water. I go to the restroom and bring them back wet paper towels to wipe the blood from their faces. Neither of them even notices.

They are immersed in fear.

“She was so cold,” Madison tells me, her voice almost emotionless. “She was so cold, Gabe.”

I rub her back, I pull her close. I watch the clock.

Another half hour passes.

There’s no way she survived. There’s no way.

Finally a doctor emerges from the double doors. He looks exhausted.

But more than that, he looks gutted.

Shit. I suck in my breath.

Pax leaps to his feet and Maddy freezes, both waiting for the worst, praying for the best, afraid to know which it is.

“She’s going to be OK,” the doctor assures us, after what seems like forever. “Her placenta detached, causing her to hemorrhage. And when you handed her to us outside, she didn’t have a pulse. She had lost that much blood. Her body shut down—in total shock. We managed to revive her, thankfully. It took us a while, but we were able to stop the blood flow and repair the damage.” He pauses, letting that sink in.

Both Pax and Maddy look stricken.

“She really died?” Pax asks in shock.

The doctor nods. “She had no heartbeat when she arrived. But we were able to bring her back within two minutes. She’s going to be fine. And she’s asking to see you,” he tells Pax. “You’ll have to keep it short. She’s exhausted.”

Pax immediately starts toward the door, but pauses. “The baby?” he asks anxiously, his eyes glistening wet.

The doctor smiles. “A healthy baby girl. Since she’s a couple of weeks early, she’ll stay here for a few days. But everything looks good, son. Congratulations.”

His words lift the cloud of fear from the room, it evaporates, and Pax smiles as he heads out the doors.

Maddy falls into me, slumping into my side with a sob.

I hold her up, then stare into her eyes.

“I told you she would be fine,” I remind her. “See? I keep my promises.”

She finally allows herself to smile.

“You do, don’t you?” she murmurs. “I was so scared, Gabe.”

“I know,” I tell her softly. I hold her clutched to me for several minutes, waiting while she pulls herself back together. Finally she shoves her hair out of her face and gets up and paces.

“I can’t wait to see my niece,” she finally tells me. “I wonder who she looks like?”

“Well, she’s got good genes,” I point out. “She’s going to be a looker.”

Maddy collapses again, onto my lap.

“You have no idea how scared I was,” she admits quietly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d have lost Mila.”

I stare at her. “I know. But you held it together so well, Maddy. I’m proud of you.”

She smiles a little. “I kept reminding myself that fear is a choice, but it wasn’t working out so well for me. I was too afraid.”

I smile back. “I think in this situation, that’s allowed,” I tell her. “It was scary. But it’s going to be OK. She’s fine. The baby’s fine. Everything is fine.”

Maddy relaxes against me, nervously speculating about what the baby looks like and what they’re going to name her.

“You just can’t wait to buy her little shoes,” I joke, trying to lift some of the lingering anxiety. Maddy smiles.

“Oh, I definitely can’t wait to do that. This is going to be the best-dressed baby in the state.”

We anxiously wait until Pax comes to get us and then Maddy beats us both back to Mila’s room. When we arrive, Maddy is sitting next to Mila, holding her hand, telling her how scared we all were.

I glance around, but there’s no baby.

I look at Madison questioningly.

“Since she was early, they had to take her to the neonatal unit,” she explains. “Pax can show her to us through the window in a little bit.”

Mila is pale and obviously tired, but other than that she looks good.

“You can go see her now,” she tells us tiredly. “I know you want to see her, Mad.”

“Are you sure?” Pax asks. “We can wait.”

Mila nods. “I’m sure. Go see our daughter.”

We find the neonatal unit and we all press our noses to the window. When the nurse pushes the incubator up closer to the window, Maddy coos at the tiny baby through the glass.

“She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she announces, although I personally think she’s red and wrinkly. “What are you naming her?”

Pax glances at Maddy.

“Madelyn Susanna Tate,” he announces proudly. “After you and my mom.”

Maddy goes completely still, her mouth dropping open in shock. “You’re naming her after me?” she whispers. Pax grins.

“Who else would we name her after? There aren’t that many derivatives of Pax.”

Maddy grins widely and then turns to the baby again, talking to her through the glass.

“Listen up, Mad. You and I are going to stick together. I’m going to buy you so many pairs of shoes that your daddy will have to build a new house just to store them in. Yes, I know… that’s a lot. But you’re worth it.”

I shake my head at Pax.

“I feel for you, dude,” I tell him. “She’s probably not exaggerating.”

“Oh, I know she’s not,” Pax sighs. “But that’s OK. My girls have me wrapped around their little fingers already. I’m man enough to admit it.”

I can’t help but grin at this. But I’ll never fault him for it. I have a weakness too. I glance at Maddy again and decide that if I’m going to have a weakness, I’m glad it’s a beautiful one.

“Madison, we should tell your sister goodbye so that she can rest,” I suggest to her gently. “We can come back tomorrow. And we can even bring shoes for Madelyn, if you want.”