She looked startled. “He’s here. He’s okay. He had a fever earlier but it’s gone now. He’s sleeping.”
I turned my head.
Ryle was on the bed beside mine, small and pale, an IV taped to his hand. Dextrose. His lashes rested on his cheeks. Breathing steady.
I cried without sound.
They cleaned my wounds. Asked questions. I answered only what I had to. I pulled the hospital gown tight, hiding my scars, hiding myself.
By evening, they discharged us.
Just like that.
Ryle clung to me the whole time, his arms tight around my neck like if he let go I would disappear.
“Mommy,” he whispered over and over. “Are you hurting? Are you okay now?”
I kissed his hair. “I’m okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.”
He looked up at me with those too old eyes.
“Why do people always hurt us?” he asked softly.
I had no answer.
....
I went back inside the hospital to settle the bills.
I stood in line, quiet, numb.
Then I heard her voice.
“Dave, I’m really fine now. You’re worrying too much,” Roxanne said, light and sweet.
My body froze.
David’s voice followed, low and gentle in a way I had not heard in years. “The doctor said you need to be careful. They said there’s a risk with the pregnancy.”