* * *
The following days dissolve into a blur of white coats, beeping machines, and a parade of faces.
Once the tube was out and the fever broke for good, Dorian Marshall returned with a vengeance. He was a terrible patient—impatient, demanding, and prowling the small confines of the suite like a caged panther the moment Dr. Bakkal allowed him to stand. He wanted to leave the hospital as soon as possible, and he makes sure everyone knows it.
David and Flor were a constant presence, taking shifts to guard the door or just sit with us. Even Dorian’s mother flies in for a brief, but relieved visit.
The Police also come and I am so nervous my hands shake. But Dorian and David handle it with smooth, practiced ease. They mention nothing about Andy. It was just an attack, a robbery gone wrong, perpetrator unknown. I don’t ask for the details; I don’t want to know them.
Amidst this, I hold a secret. It sits heavy and warm in my belly.
I’ve managed to hide the morning queasiness—mercifully mild so far—by eating my meals in the cafeteria or with David and Flor, away from Dorian’s sharp eyes.
I want to tell Dorian so much. I almost do; a dozen times. But every time I opened my mouth, a nurse walks in to check his vitals, or David arrives with legal papers, or Dorian winces from a spasm of pain, or something else happens.
I can’t do it here. Not in this sterile place where death knocked so recently.
I need us. Just us.
But I also need to tell someone, someone who understands. I need to say it out loud to make it real. So, while I’m in the cafeteria, getting a warm chocolate, I call my sister.
She answers quickly, like she’s waiting for my call.
“Sorela, how are you? Is Dorian feeling better?”
“Hey! Yes, thank you. He can stand now and we’ll probably leave the hospital in a day or two. He is acting like a caged wild animal.”
“I can only imagine” Alexandra says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Sorelina, I need to tell you something,” I whisper, glancing around to make sure I am alone. “But you can't tell Dorian. Not yet. I need to tell him myself.”
My sisters’ voice becomes worried. "Is it bad news?”
“No,” I say, a smile breaking through the exhaustion. “It's... impossible news.”
I take a deep breath and place my hand on my stomach, shielding it.
“I'm pregnant.”
The silence lasts three seconds and then...
“Della, this is amazing…” Alexandra says, her voice pitching up with cheer before faltering. "Are you sure? The doctors said..." she whispers, not trying to disappoint me but remembering that awful day at the hospital, years ago.
“They were wrong,” I say, the tears spilling over again. “Or maybe... maybe we just needed a miracle.”
“Sorela, I’m so happy for you. For both of you.” Alexandra’s voice is a mix of joy and tears. “Oh, I hate this ocean. I wish I was there, with you, to give you a hug.”
“I know. I wish you were here, too, Sorelina.” I reply.
I ask her about her and her life with Javier and Eleni but she smoothly avoids the answer and changes the subject back to me. I let it slide, this time.
So, we talk for a while more about number of weeks, and symptoms, and what to expect. She tells me how to keep it private as much as possible, and to take good care of myself.
And I am so grateful to have a sister who can share her experience as a young mom.
Standing here, five years later, in another hospital, on another continent, I finally let myself believe it fully.
It’s not a dream anymore. It’s real.
