“Go to her, son.” Drake pointed to the delivery room.
I stared at him, knowing what he wasn’t saying out loud. This couldn’t be goodbye. Not yet. He gave me a gentle nudge. Nodding, I made the journey to that door, each step heavier than the one before, my heart, my body, my mind reluctant to face the inevitable. I couldn’t lose her. With bated breath, I pushed through the door and stumbled, my eyes immediately drawn to the steel bed in the middle of a cold, sterile room that smelled of clean chemicals yet an agonizing taunt of death itself. I shifted my gaze, taking in my wife’s deathly pale looks, a debilitating reminiscence of her former self, being kept alive by beeping machines and clear tubing.
Burning tears trickled down my cheeks, searing my skin with the very essence of pain. I tried to swallow down the rock lodged in my throat, my jaw screaming from being clenched too tight. Wiping my eyes, I choked on a sob, trying not to let the sound out, so she wouldn’t hear yet in my heart I knew she could hear everything, including the beat of my heart as it boomed in my ears. When I stood near the bed, I stared down at the woman who’d given me every form of happiness for the last five years. She would’ve appeared peacefully asleep beneath the blue blanket tucked around her up to the neck, had it not been for the sweat beading her forehead and upper lip or the distinct paleness to her skin. Her nostrils flared on a fragmented pulse —she was trying hard to breathe.
“Krish.” My voice shook as trembling fingers reached out to caress her cheek.
She opened her eyes, her smile accompanied by a slight wince she failed to mask. “Hey, daddy,” she whispered.
Smiling through my tears, I leaned down and dropped a light kiss to her lips. “Hey, mommy.”
“I was right.” She attempted a laugh but winced instead.
I blinked back the tears. “Yes, Pixie you were right. A boy and a girl.”
“Are they okay?” She turned her head slightly. I followed her gaze to the incubators that held the twins. “Can I see them?”
Nodding to the nurse I hadn’t noticed when I entered, she wheeled the incubators closer. Gently, she lifted the twins, placed one in each of my arms, taking care to help me get comfortable holding them. Then she moved around to elevate the bed a little. Staring at the sleeping bundles, a small laugh of incredulity pierced my tears. I leaned against the edge of the bed and held them as close as possible to Krisha. “They’re perfect.”
With deep breaths I could see she was struggling to take, she withdrew her hands from beneath the blanket and traced the tips of her fingers over their facial features as though committing their faces to memory. “They are perfect.” She kissed the brow of the baby closest to her. I moved so she could do the same to the other. “Promise me, you’ll take good care of them.”
My head bobbed and shook at the same time—what she was asking, painfully obvious. “Krish, I can’t lose—”
“Promise me, Trent,” she cut in with an encouraging smile, the one she always used when I argued a point. She’d never shown me anger, ever. “I need to know that everything will be okay—you will be okay,” she continued in that quiet voice I’d come to love.
A sharp tug in my chest, pulling from the deep recesses of my heart. The tears fell harder. I glanced down at our children and nodded. “I promise.”
As though she sensed my loss of composure, the nurse took them from my arms and placed them back in the incubators. I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Don’t.” Krisha linked her fingers with mine. “I gave you what you needed,” she whispered. “And I’ll do it again.”
“I can’t lose you.” Sliding down next to her, I pushed my face into the crook of her neck and didn’t hold back the tears. Her scent, a mixture of orange blossoms and gardenias, filled my nostrils. I inhaled deeply, storing it in my memory forever.
She ran slow fingers through my hair like she always did at night. I could hear her breathing, short and deep like she was forcing back the tears. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.” Her soft laugh was strained. “Trent?” Reluctantly, I leaned back on one arm to look down at her. “I want our daughter named after my mother. Would you do that for me?’ When I hesitated, she shook her head. “I want my name to stay here...” She pointed to my chest. “In your heart where it belongs. Our daughter needs her individuality, not my shadow. Promise?” I nodded. “And our son—”
“Nicky,” I whispered.
She smiled before her lids fluttered closed. We’d decided to name our son after the diner where our journey together began. Some might consider it silly, but it was her wish. She’d planned on not taking her shift that afternoon and according to her, fate stepped in. Puffy lids slowly lifted, locking with mine as tears leaked down her temples, disappearing into her hair. “I love you.”
I palmed her cheek, dropping soft kisses to her lips, nose, and each eye unable to stop my tears. “I love you too, Krish.”
“I want to hear my name on your lips one last—”
“Don’t, Pixie.” I shook my head hard, trying to pause the pain squeezing my heart, twisting my insides, knowing she was saying goodbye. I wasn’t ready to.
“Trent.” She cupped my face in quivering hands. “It’s not goodbye. I will find you again. Believe,” she whispered. “Fate will bring us back together. I don’t know how but you will find me again, I will come back to you in some form or the other. You’re the air...” she paused, pulling in deep breaths. “...in my lungs—”
“No. Please, Pixie, you can’t—”
Her grip tightened on my face. “Let me say it, I need to say it, okay.” I nodded. “You’re the air in my lungs...” She kissed one cheek. “And the light of my smile.” She kissed the other cheek. “Say it,” she murmured.”
I stopped breathing. Every tiny cell in me ached, a blistering pain that seared my lungs, pausing the air I desperately needed but didn’t want. I couldn’t say the words.
“Please, you have to,” she choked on her breath between words.
“You’re the beat of my heart.” I kissed her brow. “And the whisper of my soul.” I kissed her lips.
She smiled. “I’m right here.” One hand moved from my face to my chest. “And I’ll always stay there until you need me no more.”
