Since you’re reading this, you know that I am again taking the easy way out. I know that you have a right to know about your son, but I’m scared to death that you will reject him, or worse, take him from me. You seem like a great guy, but honestly, I don’t really know you. I know it’s still possible, but then again, will I chicken out and not send this letter? I hope not. You deserve to know. I want you to know that I do not expect anything from you. My parents’ left me set for life, so money is not an issue. I don’t expect you to play a role in his life, unless you want to. All I ask is that if you do, make sure it’s what you want. I don’t ever want my son to know the rejection of a parent like I did. At least that is my hope.
I do plan to list you as his father because, should something ever happen to me, you will be all he has. It will then be your choice to make. I pray that you would not reject our son. I have a trust set up for him as well—like I said, my parents’ left me financially stable, I’ve tried to prepare for every scenario. I had to put an emergency contact in my medical records. After discussing it with my OB/GYN, he suggested that since I was listing you on the birth certificate that I put you for the contact as well. That way, if something were to go wrong in the delivery, they would know how to reach you. So I did that. I don’t anticipate that you will ever be called, but I felt obligated to tell you.
I love this baby, Ridge. I will give him a life full of love and happiness. I am leaving the ball in your court as to how much or how little you would like to be involved. Below, you will find my contact information. I hope to hear from you soon.
Best Regards,
Melissa
My hands are shaking. I’m going to be a father. I cast my gaze on Melissa, who still looks as though she’s just sleeping soundly. I take her in until I reach her swollen belly.
I have a son.
Fear like I’ve never known before races through my veins. Is he okay? What does Melissa’s condition mean for him? What if she never wakes up? Can I raise him? Slowly, I stand and walk to the side of the bed. I rest one shaking hand on the bed to hold me up and gently place the other over her swollen belly. Tears prick my eyes.
This situation is ten kinds of fucked. I want to be mad at her, but she was coming to tell me. At least, I hope she would have made it; she was close, a few miles from the shop.
I’m lost in my thoughts when I feel a bump against my hand. I pull it back quickly, just as Alice and Dr. Ellis walk back into the room.
“It’s okay,” Alice says in her calm, soothing voice. “The baby kicked.” She gives me a soft smile.
“Are you her nurse?”
“Yes, I’ve been with her since they brought her in.”
“And you?” I point to Dr. Ellis. “Are you her doctor?”
“I’m the obstetrician on call. The baby is my patient, and Ms. Knox is being treated from the staff physician on call. He and I are working together for the best possible outcome for both.”
“Is the baby . . . Is he okay? I mean, what happens if she doesn’t wake up? Are you sure he’s fine?”
“I’m sure. I’m watching his vitals, and I performed an ultrasound as soon as they were brought in. I think you should speak to her physician about her condition.”
“I’m the father.” I point to the letter that I set on the end of her bed. “That’s what the letter says, that I’m the baby’s father.”
“How about I do another ultrasound? That way, you can see your baby, see for yourself that he’s okay,” Dr. Ellis suggests.
That lump is back. “Please,” I croak out. “I would also like to speak to her doctor and you, if possible. I just . . . need to know what to expect.”
“I can page him while you’re performing the ultrasound,” Alice offers.
“Thank you, Alice,” Dr. Ellis says.
I watch as she leaves the room and comes right back in, pushing a machine. She sets it next to the bed, gives me a soft smile, and scurries back out the door.
I watch with rapt attention as Dr. Ellis carefully pulls back the blanket covering Melissa’s body and lifts up her gown.
“Wait, what are you doing?” I ask.
“I need to have her belly bare. I place this gel on her abdomen and then this—” he holds up a small piece of equipment that appears to be hooked to a screen “—will let us see your baby.”
I’ve see this done on TV, so I get the concept. But she’s just lying there, unable to speak for herself. I need to protect her—that’s my job, right? As her emergency contact, it’s my job to look out for her, and as the . . . father. I swallow hard.
I’m going to be a father.
Dr. Ellis continues, placing the gel on her swollen belly and the small handle. “Watch the screen,” he tells me.
Stepping as close to the bed as I can get, my eyes lock onto the little black screen. I’m just about to ask what I’m looking for when the screen turns to black and white. And there, in a tight little ball, is my son.
I have a son.
“Ten fingers.” The doctor points to the screen. “Ten toes.” He points again. “This is his heartbeat, steady and strong. He’s a fighter.”
I grip the side of the bed to keep from falling over. It’s all too much to take in. There he is—a part of me, on that tiny, little black and white screen. I have so many emotions running through me I can’t even identify them all.
Without thinking, I lean down and whisper in her ear. “Hey, Melissa. You need to stay strong, fight. He needs you.”