PART 9
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“Thank you.”
Then she left.
The waiting room gradually returned to normal.
People looked back at their phones.
The nurses returned to paperwork.
The room became anonymous again.
Ethan sat beside me.
He placed one hand gently against June’s back.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
“Daddy’s here.”
June opened her eyes and looked toward his face.
Then she settled slightly.
Ethan looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes.”
“For calling my mom.”
“Yes.”
“And for everything before tonight.”
“Yes.”
“I know saying sorry isn’t enough.”
“No.”
“But I mean it.”
“I know.”
He swallowed.
“What do you need from me?”
“I need you to stay.”
“I’m staying.”
“Not just tonight.”
He met my eyes.
“I know.”
“Every night that needs you.”
“Yes.”
I took a breath.
“I have been doing most of this alone for four months.”
“I know.”
“I’m good at handling things.”
“I know.”
“But handling things alone is not what I agreed to.”
“No.”
“What did you agree to?”
“A partner.”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“That’s what I still want.”
I paused.
“I’m not threatening to leave.”
“I’m not interested in drama.”
“I want my partner to actually show up.”
“I will.”
“Start tonight.”
“I am.”
At 3:47 a.m., they finally called June’s name.
We went back together.
The pediatric resident introduced herself as Dr. Owens.
She examined June carefully.
Then she explained that June had a urinary tract infection.
It wasn’t uncommon in infant girls.
They would run a culture.
Start antibiotics.
Monitor the fever.
She explained the medication schedule.
The signs we needed to watch for.
When to call the pediatrician.
When to return to the ER.
Ethan listened.
Actually listened.
He asked questions.
Good ones.
Not questions designed to prove he was paying attention.
Questions from someone who genuinely wanted to understand what to do.
We left the hospital around 5:15.
June had received her first antibiotic dose.
Her fever had dropped to 101.3.
She was still sick.
But slightly calmer.
I sat in the back beside her.
Ethan drove.
Slowly.
Carefully.
When we reached home, I fed June.
She ate less than usual and eventually fell asleep against my chest.
Ethan sat nearby.
“Do you want me to take her?”
“In a minute.”
“Okay.”
Then he said,
“I’m calling out of work.”
I looked at him.
“The presentation?”
“I’ll tell them I have a family emergency.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward June.
“I do.”
“You need sleep.”
“So do you.”
“She needs to be monitored today.”
He held out his hand.
“I’m staying.”
I studied him.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
