Chương 4
They took Maya through double doors within minutes.
A second nurse checked Liam and told me his temperature was low but not dangerously so.
They brought warm blankets and a bottle of formula from the pediatric unit after I explained what had happened.
When Liam began drinking, I had to look away.
I had been in Germany eating restaurant dinners with engineers while my son had been rationed food in an apartment I paid for.
The thought was useless and unfair, but it stayed.
Maya watched me from the bed.
“You were working.”
“I left you.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
She sounded tired rather than comforting.
A resident examined her incision and called in an attending.
The attending was a woman with silver hair pulled into a low ponytail and glasses that kept sliding down her nose.
She removed the dressing carefully.
Maya sucked in a breath.
The doctor’s face remained neutral.
“There’s redness along the incision and some separation at the edge.”
“Is it infected?” I asked.
“We need labs and imaging before I answer that.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
The doctor looked at me.
“I’m going to talk to your wife first.”
Heat crawled up my neck.
“Right.”
Maya reached for my hand anyway.
Blood was drawn.
An IV went in.
Antibiotics followed once the lab work and examination raised enough concern that the attending did not want to wait.
Nobody promised anything.
That frightened me more than a dramatic warning would have.
Around twelve fifteen, the New Year arrived somewhere beyond the hospital walls.
We knew because a muffled cheer moved through the waiting areas and someone’s phone began playing “Auld Lang Syne.”
The nurse changing Maya’s IV bag said, “Happy New Year,” with the exhausted tone of someone announcing an elevator floor.
Maya looked at me.
“This one’s going well.”
I laughed despite myself.
“So far, excellent.”
She smiled, then winced when the movement pulled at her abdomen.
I bent down and kissed her forehead.
Her skin was still too hot.
At twelve thirty-seven, my phone began vibrating continuously.
First Chloe.
Then Mark.
Then my mother.
Then Chloe again.
I silenced it.
A text appeared.
WHY ARE THE CARDS NOT WORKING?
Another.
David answer your phone.
Then my mother.
There is clearly some kind of fraud block on the account.
Call the bank immediately.
I showed Maya.
She stared at the messages.
“Don’t answer.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You always answer her.”
The words were quiet.
“What?”
“Your mother.”
She watched the IV fluid drip.
“You always answer.”
I sat down.
“That’s not true.”
Maya gave me a tired look.
I almost argued.
Then I started remembering.
Sunday dinners when my mother complained Maya did not visit enough.
Christmas when she criticized the way Maya seasoned potatoes and I told Maya afterward that Eleanor was “just particular.”
The baby shower where my mother opened gifts meant for Maya and reorganized them because she said the registry was impractical.
Each time, I had translated rudeness into personality.
Each time, Maya had been asked to absorb it because resistance would have made the room uncomfortable.
“I did,” I said.
She looked at me.
“I answered.”
Maya nodded once.
That was all.
The doctor returned forty minutes later.
“The good news is that you came in before this became much worse.”
My lungs finally released.
“The incision is infected, and you’re dehydrated.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“We’re admitting you.”
“For how long?”
“At least overnight, possibly longer depending on how you respond to antibiotics and what the surgical team sees in the morning.”
“What about my baby?”
“We’ll help you make arrangements so he can remain with you as much as possible.”
Maya looked immediately at me.
“I’m staying.”
I said it before she could ask.
The doctor nodded.
“That will help.”
After she left, Maya began crying.
There was no sound at first.
Tears simply moved down both sides of her face.
I stood, unsure whether touching her would make things better or worse.
“Hey.”
“I kept thinking I was weak.”
The sentence came out broken.
“What?”
“She kept saying other women recover faster.”
“Maya.”
“She said your grandmother had five children and was cooking dinner the next day.”
“That probably isn’t even true.”
“I know that now.”
She wiped her face angrily.
“But when you’re tired enough, somebody can say anything with confidence and it starts sounding reasonable.”
I sat beside her.
She stared toward Liam’s bassinet.
“She told me the pain medication would get into my milk.”
“The doctor said it was safe.”
“I told her that.”
“What did she do?”
“She threw it away.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
“Your prescription?”
Maya nodded.
“When?”
“Four days ago.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I did.”
My stomach tightened.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I called.”
She looked at me.
“Your mother answered.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I called your work phone.”
I reached into my pocket.
The German number my company had issued me stayed in my laptop bag most evenings because I used my personal phone for family.
“My work phone?”
“She said you were in a meeting.”
“Why would she have my work phone?”
“She didn’t.”
Maya frowned.
“She said she was with you.”
The room seemed to sharpen around me.
“My mother told you she was in Germany?”
Maya stared at me.
“David, what are you talking about?”
“My mother never came to Germany.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Maya’s face changed.
“She said you had asked her to handle everything because you were too busy.”
I took out my personal phone.
“When was this?”
“December twenty-seventh.”
I opened the security archive again.
The cameras sorted recordings by date and motion event.
December twenty-seventh contained dozens of clips.
At 9:14 that morning, my mother entered the kitchen carrying Maya’s pharmacy bag.
She set it on the counter.
May you like
At 9:19, Maya appeared holding Liam.
There was no audio at first because the recording had begun late.
