PART7: She Came Home After Giving Birth, and I Asked, “What’s for Dinner?” — What Happened Next Changed Me Forever

PART 7

“I’ve been trying to tell you something for months.”

I opened my eyes.

“What?”

She stared at the ceiling.

“I found out I was pregnant before we told anyone.”

“I know.”

“No.”

She turned toward me.

“I mean before the pregnancy test.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“I knew something was wrong with me before I knew I was pregnant.”

I waited.

“My doctor found something during a routine exam.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

She looked toward the door.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I knew what it was.”

“What was it?”

She swallowed.

“A mass.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“What kind of mass?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Is it cancer?”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“They don’t know.”

I sat completely still.

“When did you find out?”

“Eight months ago.”

Eight months.

I stared at her.

“You knew for eight months?”

“I had tests.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

“I was pregnant.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She looked away.

“I was afraid.”

“Of me?”

She didn’t respond.

That was an answer.

I leaned back.

“What happened?”

“They found something on my ovary. They thought it might be a cyst. Then it changed.”

My hands went cold.

“They wanted more imaging.”

“And?”

“I kept postponing it.”

“Why?”

She looked at me.

“Because we were trying to have a baby.”

I didn’t understand.

“You thought the treatment would affect your chances?”

“Yes.”

“So you said nothing?”

“I wanted Mateo.”

Her voice broke.

“I wanted one thing in my life that wasn’t another doctor’s appointment.”

I looked at my son sleeping beside me.

“And now?”

She closed her eyes.

“Now I don’t know.”

The room went silent.

I reached for her hand.

She let me hold it.

“I should have told you,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

She flinched.

I squeezed her hand.

“But you should have never been afraid to tell me.”

She began crying.

“I didn’t know if you’d stay.”

The words destroyed me.

“Why wouldn’t I stay?”

“Because you weren’t even there when I asked you to pick up medicine.”

I had no answer.

She continued.

“You’ve always been good when things are exciting. Birthdays. Vacations. Announcements.”

Her voice trembled.

“But when things get difficult, you disappear.”

I wanted to defend myself.

I couldn’t.

Because she was right.

I had spent years believing being a husband meant paying bills, working hard, fixing things around the house when I had time.

I had never understood that sometimes love was sitting beside someone while they were afraid.

Sometimes it was holding a hand.

Sometimes it was noticing a stain on a pillow.

Sometimes it was getting medicine without being asked twice.

Sometimes it was staying awake at 3 a.m. because the person you loved couldn’t sleep.

The door opened.

Teresa walked in.

She looked at me.

Then at Allison.

Her eyes filled with tears.

She crossed the room and kissed her daughter’s forehead.

“You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Teresa looked at me.

I stood.

“I should have known.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I should have noticed.”

She stared at me for a long moment.

Then she said, “Yes.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

She sat beside Allison.

A few minutes later, a surgeon came in.

He explained that the medication was helping but they needed to perform a procedure to remove the remaining tissue.

Allison looked terrified.

I moved closer.

“I’m here.”

She looked at me.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The surgeon asked me to wait outside.

As they wheeled her away, I walked beside the bed.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She squeezed my hand.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

The doors closed.

CONTINUE READING PART8…