Hold on to Hope
She knew he knew better than that.
But the thing was, he was also Evan’s father.
Even though she knew he was trying to hide it, she saw the distress that blazed through his expression.
She twisted her fingers so tight they were blanching white, cutting off circulation.
He exhaled a heavy sigh, contemplated, glancing to the wall before he looked back at her. His voice cracked. “Is it Evan’s?”
Her nod was jerky, and the tears started coming faster. She sniffed, reached up to try to wipe the moisture away. “Yes.”
She and Evan hadn’t told anyone about their relationship.
Maybe they’d been having too much fun sneaking around.
Loving the feel of something scandalous and secret and special even when them being together made perfect sense.
She wondered just how obvious they were.
If she was obvious then.
If anyone else would know.
“Oh, God, Frankie.” His brow pinched. “Are you okay?”
She choked out a disbelieving sound. Of course, he would think to ask her how she felt. Exude all his care. She gave a harsh shake of her head. “No, Uncle Kale, I don’t think that I am. I’m . . . I’m scared. I’m so scared and I don’t know how to keep this inside any longer.”
Evan had crammed it into her head thousands of times that he could never give her a family. That he could never take that chance. Told her to chase after something better. Told her to go after what he believed was a better life because there was a part of him that believed he was nothing but a sickness and disease.
But the thought of this child as something different than extraordinary broke her heart right in half.
“We were careful, Uncle.”
Except for the couple times that they weren’t.
When they’d been so caught up in the other that they didn’t have time to think about anything else.
Consequences or gifts.
Guilt seared through her flesh, cutting her open wide.
God, what had she done?
“I . . . I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, feeling her mouth tremble all over the place.
Her uncle’s brow pinched. “He doesn’t know?”
Her throat bobbed, and she tried to swallow around the mountain of jagged rocks that were gathered there, boulders pressing down on her chest.
The weight too much.
“No. Oh God, Uncle. He’s . . . he’s going to be so upset. He’s told me so many times that this can never happen.”
But it was already happening.
“He has a right to know, Frankie.”
“I know. I’m going to tell him. I will. I just . . . have to make a plan. Figure out what we’re going to do.”
His nod was one of reluctance. “Do you know when your last period was?”
She dropped her head, more of that shame streaking free, whispered toward her lap, “Almost four months ago.”
“God, Frankie.” That was the first amount of disappointment he’d shown.
But she’d ignored it for too long. Tried to will it away before she’d started to beg for it to stay.
He shook his head like he was trying to shake off any judgment. His voice softened. “What do you want to do, Frankie Leigh? Do you know?”
It was the one thing she did know in all this mess.
She ran her hand tenderly over her belly, a wistful smile breaking through the tears that kept streaming down her face. “I love her, Uncle. I love her so much.”
Her uncle seemed to struggle, both trying to be the man he’d always promised her he would be. Supportive. But it was up against the outright worry that instantly sagged his shoulders. Dimmed his eyes. “Okay. We need to start with some testing.”
* * *
“No, Uncle. Please. Don’t say that.” It was a whimper.
Sorrow rushed and spilled and spun the walls. She couldn’t see. Refused to hear.
“I’m sorry, Frankie Leigh, but her heart abnormalities are incredibly severe. There is little chance of her making it to term, let alone through delivery.”
She tried to hold it back, but the sob broke free. She pressed her hand to her mouth.
Trying to keep in the hope. Not to let it go. If she believed hard enough, it would be.
She rocked in the same chair she’d been sitting in for the last five hours. She’d been there waiting and waiting and waiting in a private office after she’d been sent for a special echocardiography in Birmingham.
Her uncle Kale had driven her there after he’d arranged for her to meet with a fetal cardiologist.
Her entire world had dropped out from under her when it had only been him coming through the door to give her the results.
She’d known it the second she’d seem him.
Mourning already engraved on his face.
She pressed her hands to her chest, angling forward. “There has to be something that can be done. There has to be. She . . . she can get a transplant like Evan did. Evan is perfect. She’ll be perfect, too.” The words tumbled free. A prayer. A plea.