Chapter 2 - The Smallest Baby I Had Ever Seen
I rushed through the hospital entrance and found Dr. Nash waiting outside the NICU — calm, in her late fifties, the reassuring manner of someone who'd delivered difficult news many times before.
"Mr. Cole?"
"Yes. Where's Marisol?"
"Room 412. She's resting."
"And my son?"
"Come with me."
She guided me through the NICU doors. The room was dim and quiet except for monitors, soft alarms, the low mechanical hum of equipment. She stopped beside an incubator.
Inside was the smallest baby I had ever seen. My son weighed barely four pounds. A tiny blue cap covered his head, an oxygen mask over his face, his chest rising and falling in shallow, steady movements.
My knees nearly gave out.
"He's small," Dr. Nash said quietly, "but he's doing well. His lungs are developing nicely. He mainly needs time and monitoring."
I moved closer, reached through the incubator opening with trembling fingers, and touched his hand. His fingers wrapped around my pinky. That tiny grip shattered something inside me. I started crying.
"What did she name him?"
"She hasn't. She said she was waiting."
I stared at my son through blurred eyes. "I'm here," I whispered. "Dad's here."
After several minutes, Dr. Nash led me toward Marisol's room. "She's awake."
I entered quietly. She lay against the pillows, exhausted and pale, an IV in her hand, dark hair spread across the pillow. When she saw me, her eyes widened. "Desmond?" Barely audible. "What are you doing here?"
I approached slowly. "Dr. Nash called me. She told me about our son."
Confusion crossed her face. "She called you?"
"You listed me as his father."
She looked toward the window. "I listed you for the medical records. I didn't think anyone would contact you." Then, quietly: "I thought you'd already made your decision."
The words hit like a punch. "What decision?"
She closed her eyes. "Desmond, don't."
"Don't what?"
"Pretend. It hurts enough already."
I leaned forward. "Marisol, I swear to you, I didn't know you were pregnant."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes! If I had known you were carrying my child, do you seriously think I'd have let you go through this alone?"
She began crying. "I called you."
I froze. "What?"
"I called you six times in April, after the doctor confirmed everything. I left three voicemails. I asked you to meet me. I said something had happened that would change both our lives."
My stomach twisted. "April?"
"You never answered." Her tears came faster. "Then about a week later I got an automated message from someone at your company saying any further communication with you had to go through your corporate legal counsel."
My whole body went cold. "No."
She shook her head. "I assumed you knew. I thought your lawyers had told you I was pregnant and you'd decided you didn't want anything to do with me."
"No, Marisol." I pulled out my phone. "I never saw those calls."
"I still have them in my call history."
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"And I never heard those messages."
She stared at me, searching my face. "Then where did they go?"
