Fuck.
My head rings with pain. It is her. The woman fighting for her life in Room 208—just about to go into surgery for internal hemorrhaging, three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a skull fracture—is Red. And at the moment, we aren’t sure she is going to survive. I am not a crier, and I am not about to become one, so I swipe at the tear dripping down my face with abject hatred. Fuck her for nearly getting killed. Fuck her for running away from me. Fuck her goddamn, fucking broken shoes that I still hold onto.
“And the baby?” I ask, nearly in a stress-induced psychosis.
“Well, here’s the really weird thing. We ran the DNA several times, and every time the match came back the same, with little to no variation.” The voice on the other line sounds somber and confused.
“What’s wrong with her baby?”
“Well, the results came back with Ms. Cross identified genetically as the mother.”
I lose all professional decorum at that point. “Of course, that’s obvious. What about the father? Or genetic deformities? What’s wrong with it?”
“Here's where it gets a little strange. All ten of the result markers identified you, Sir, as a ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine percent paternal match.”
Fuck.Just what I thought.
“Is it possible that you’re this baby’s father?”
“Anything is possible,” I tell him and hang up the phone. I am about to claw my way out of my own skin; being rude is the least ofmy problems.
I sit in the office of New York General staring at the wall. Red is fighting for her life, and I have a baby in the NICU. After what feels like years of just staring at nothing, I stand up and make my way to the nursery. If I have a child, I have to at least look at it because she is very likely going to lose her mother, and I will have to be responsible for finding her a home.
When I walk into the nursery, there is only one nurse sitting with a baby. She looks up at me and seems a little nervous. I offer her a smile, which is not only rare but hard to do given the circumstances. The baby has an oxygen tube attached to her nose and is covered in monitoring tabs, but a quick glance at her patient monitor tells me that she is indeed a very strong little fighter. Her vitals are good.
“She seemed lonely in the incubator. She’s a little fighter, very strong, this little one,” the nurse says, holding the baby to her chest, tucked inside her scrubs.
This nurse is giving my daughter the treatment her mother should have been able to provide, or fuck… God, me. I was supposed to be holding her. Despite the ugly breathing tube taped across her little face, my daughter is beautiful. A heavy rain pelts the windows outside, and I pray her mother won’t die.
“Skin to skin,” I say softly.
“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse says softly, acknowledging my presence in the room.
“I was just doing my rounds and came to check on her,” I say, about to leave.
“How is the mother?” the nurse asks. She is staring at my daughter with such adoration I feel a little uncomfortable.
“In surgery. Not well, but…” Fuck the tears.Fuck.
I am crying.
“I know, some hit harder than others. She’s a beautiful woman, and she just gave birth to this gorgeous little girl. If we lose the mother, maybe my husband and I can adopt her.”
What the fuck? No… God, no.
“She has a father,” I say, trying to hold back my anger and confused emotions. “We ID’d Mom and Baby; she has a father. Worst case, she’ll go with him.”
“Oh.” The nurse sounds disappointed.
Worst case, she’ll go with me.Fuck the rain, fuck that stupid fucking car that hit them, fuck… Fucking is what got me here in the first place.
I stay at the hospital for the rest of the night. The baby continues to do well, and when Scarlett comes out of surgery, it seems like her prognosis has improved.
“The surgery went better than expected. She is still not out of the woods, but we were able to get her on a vent for the collapsed lung. She has three broken ribs, a hairline fracture on her skull, and a fracture on her right tibia; her injuries are not fatal. She’s conscious, but groggy if you want to see her.”
“Thank you,” I tell the intern who is finishing his shift and updating me on all the patients, saving Scarlett until last.
I pass her room several times but wait until she is asleep to go in and look at her. She is going to live, and her injuries aren’t as bad as we initially suspected, so that sweet baby upstairs will grow up with a mother. The question is, will she have a father?
