Chapter 3

"If we start early and provide the right therapy, he might recover," Caroline said, "But it will demand a tremendous amount of patience and energy from his parents."

I nodded, then lowered my head, pressing my face into my palms.

My shoulders trembled, not for myself, but for him. For this tiny little one who hadn't even learned to cry, and whose voice had already been silenced by the world.

Inside the incubator, he woke up. His eyes fluttered open, his mouth opened as if to cry, but no sound escaped.

I pressed my hand to the glass. He couldn't see me or hear me, but he could feel it, the faint warmth of my touch seeping through the barrier.

He settled down. Silently, I spoke to him in my heart, promising that I could hear him.

On my way back from the newborn unit, I ran into Belle. She was in a wheelchair, being pushed by a caregiver, at the far end of the hallway.

When she saw me, her expression changed. It was not guilt or shame, but something I couldn't quite name. It was like she'd just confirmed something she'd been wondering about.

"Ms. Sinclair," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I heard you had a son."

I didn't answer.

As our wheelchairs passed each other, I glanced at her. She'd lost a lot of weight, her hospital gown hanging loosely on her frame.

A thin blanket was draped over her left leg. It was the old injury she got years ago when she shielded Morgan from a car, the one that still ached every time the weather turned.

"Your leg," I said, "Does it hurt?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, it hurts. It's been hurting for eleven years now."

I nodded, then said something I never thought I'd say, "Let it hurt. Maybe that's exactly what you need."

The caregiver wheeled her away. I heard Belle call my name from behind, but I didn't look back.

Later, the caregiver told me that after Belle got back to her room that day, she had a huge meltdown. She threw the water cup off her bedside table, and shards of glass went flying everywhere.

But the caregiver also mentioned that after Belle finished throwing things, she sat on her bed, hugging her left leg, and said something.

"Was it worth it?" Belle had murmured to herself.

The caregiver asked her what she meant, but Belle didn't answer.

*****

Morgan came on the fourth day.

I was sitting up in bed, eating an apple. The nurse had peeled and sliced it for me, putting the pieces in a disposable cup. I ate them one by one, taking my time.

When he pushed the door open, a cold wind followed him in. He was wearing a dark gray coat, his hair a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot like he hadn't slept in days.

"Raine," he called from the doorway.

I popped a piece of apple into my mouth, chewing slowly. It was sweet, crisp, and juicy.

"Belle was just having a rough time after her surgery. She didn't mean it," Morgan started.

"Morgan," I interrupted.

He paused. I swallowed the apple and met his gaze.

"Did you know your son can't hear?" I asked.

His expression changed instantly, his face draining of color. "What?"

"He failed the hearing test twice. Severe sensorineural hearing loss," I said, my words coming out flat, like I was reciting someone else's medical report.

"It might be because of the lack of oxygen during birth. Or maybe not. The doctor said the reason doesn't matter. What matters is..." I continued.

"He can't hear?" Morgan repeated as he cut me off. His voice was strained, like he was forcing the words out between his teeth. Then he headed straight for the door.

"Don't bother," I said, "Dr. Preston's already gone for the day."

He stopped in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame. For the first time, I saw his shoulders shake.

In three years, I'd never seen Morgan like this. He was always steady, composed, and in control. He was commanding in the boardroom and unflappable in public.

The only person who'd ever made him lose his cool was Belle. Now, there was one more.

"Was it my fault?" Morgan asked, his back still turned to me.

I didn't answer.

The sky outside was growing dark. The room stayed unlit, and the light from the hallway cast his shadow long across the floor, reaching all the way to my bedside.

"The day you signed the consent form," I finally spoke up, "I thought about a lot of things while I was in the delivery room. I remembered the first time we met, when you told me my smile looked just like hers."

I looked at him. "I remembered our wedding night when you got drunk and, with your arms around me, called out her name. I remembered when I first bled three months into this pregnancy, how I called you, but you were at the hospital with Belle for her check-up. I remembered every single time I watched you walk away from me."

I set the fork down in the cup with a soft clink.

"Morgan, do you know why I stayed all this time?" I asked.

He turned around. The hallway light hit his face, and I saw his eyes were red.