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The minutes stretch and fold until I don’t know how much time has passed, but Laila is screaming. Dr. Levitan counts down from ten again and again.
Now, I don’t need to see the other fathers up and down the hall to know what I should be doing. I can picture it: me, whispering words of encouragement in her ear, mopping the sweat from her forehead, massaging her back.
But I’m not like those other fathers. I’m not the man Laila needs.
All I’m able to offer her is my hand.
The lights are unnaturally bright as they blaze down on all of us. It’s a wonder the doctor can see straight with that kind of glare. Every time I blink, white stars dance across my vision. The stars circulate and take shape until I see things in them: steel cell bars, toothbrushes filed to a menacing point, the craggy, lined face of the man who put me in that jail…
Then, suddenly, a high-pitched wail cuts through my foggy thoughts.
“She’s here,” Laila croaks, craning to try to glimpse the baby. “Is she here…?”
“Congratulations!” Dr. Levitan’s words hit my ears like he’s yelling from a great distance. “You have a healthy baby girl.”
I catch a glimpse of a chubby arm and a flash of matted auburn hair before the nurses converge around the beautiful alien that just exited my wife’s body.
“She’s here, sweetheart.” Marie is sobbing, watching the nurses as they clean up our daughter. “And she’s absolutely perfect.”
Laila collapses against the pillows, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her nails are still digging into my hand.
But I don’t feel it.
I don’t feel anything.
A nurse carries a swaddled bundle in our direction. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”
Apparently, she interprets my silence as an affirmative, because the next thing I know, she’s placing the baby into my arms.
The little creature curled up in the soft blanket yawns, her fist rising triumphantly for a moment before it collapses against the pink blanket.
Her hair is a rich, dark auburn, the same color mine was as a child. But the rest of her seems to come from her mother—the button nose, the heart-shaped face. The rose-colored cheeks.
Anotherrozafor the garden of my life,says a voice in my head I don’t recognize.
“God, she’s beautiful.” Laila tugs on my arm until I sit on the edge of the bed where she can have a better view.
Objectively, I agree. She is a perfect baby.
But the responsibility is stifling.
It’s a dark, sinking weight that reminds me exactly what I stand to lose if I don’t do my job right.
“What do you think about Nina Marie?” Laila whispers to me, more tears welling in her eyes despite the smile on her face. “I thought we could name her after both our mothers.”
“Nina Marie Adamov,” I whisper, staring down at this helpless little baby that we’ve brought forth.
“It feels right, doesn’t it?” Laila asks.
No,I almost say.Nothing about this feels right.
Wordlessly, I place the baby in Laila’s arms and take a step back. Marie takes my place at Laila’s side.
As they coo over the baby, I move to the door, feeling the walls closing in on me.
I need to get out of this room. I need some air.
I need to breathe through the pain.
