Chapter 5 - The Third Incubator
Hope Carter weighed just under two pounds at birth.
She was the smallest of the three sisters.
Her skin was delicate.
Her fingers were no larger than the narrow end of a cotton swab.
A breathing tube helped air reach her tiny lungs.
Wires crossed the mattress beneath her.
And a cluster of monitors recorded changes so subtle that Emily had learned to fear every unexpected beep.
Grace was doing relatively well for a baby born so early.
She still needed respiratory support and specialized feeding, but her vital signs had become more stable.
Lily had needed treatment for blood-pressure problems and was being watched for infection.
Hope remained the most fragile.
Emily stood between the incubators, supported by Rebecca and a nurse.
Her hospital gown hung loosely from her shoulders.
A wheelchair waited behind her.
She had insisted on standing.
"I want them to see me."
Rebecca rested a hand against her back.
"They know you're here."
Emily shook her head.
"I need them to hear me."
The nurse smiled gently.
"Then talk to them."
Emily approached Grace first.
"Hi, sweetheart."
Her voice trembled.
"I'm your mommy."
Grace's fingers moved.
Emily smiled.
"You gave everybody quite a scare."
She rested one hand against the incubator.
"But you are very, very loved."
At Lily's bedside, she spoke about the little yellow blanket waiting at home.
She told her daughter about the rocking chair beside the nursery window.
She promised to sing badly and often.
Then she turned toward Hope.
The smallest incubator stood near the far wall.
A nurse was adjusting a monitor.
Emily stopped.
"Is something wrong?"
"Her oxygen needs changed a little. We're watching her closely."
Emily nodded.
She had learned that the words watching closely could mean many things.
Most of them frightened her.
She moved closer.
"Hi, Hope."
Her daughter lay almost motionless.
Emily pressed her fingertips against the clear plastic.
"I'm sorry I can't pick you up yet."
A tear fell.
"I'm sorry everything is so hard."
Rebecca stood silently behind her.
Emily leaned toward the incubator.
"But I want you to know something."
She wiped her cheeks.
"You're not alone."
The baby's hand twitched.
Emily smiled through her tears.
"I'm right here."
A voice spoke behind them.
"Emily?"
She turned.
Dr. Samuel Reeves, the neonatologist, approached carrying a chart.
He was in his early fifties, with a tired but reassuring expression.
"Can we talk for a minute?"
Emily's stomach tightened.
"About Hope?"
He nodded.
They moved to a quiet corner of the unit.
"Hope is still very sick," he explained.
"Her lungs are immature, and we're monitoring her circulation carefully. She's responding to treatment, but the next several days are important."
Emily gripped Rebecca's hand.
"Is she getting worse?"
"Not necessarily. She remains critically ill, and we want to be honest about the uncertainty."
Emily nodded slowly.
"What can I do?"
"Rest. Recover. Be here when you're able. Talk to her. We'll help you participate safely in her care."
She looked back toward the incubator.
"I'd stay beside her every second if I could."
"I believe you."
Dr. Reeves paused.
"There's one other issue we need to discuss."
Emily turned back.
"Your husband contacted the unit this morning."
Her expression changed.
"He did?"
"He wants to visit."
Rebecca stiffened.
Emily looked down.
"Does he have the right?"
Dr. Reeves answered carefully.
"As their legal father, he has parental rights. We can help you speak with the hospital's social worker and legal team about safety concerns or restrictions that may apply. But we can't independently decide a custody dispute."
Emily nodded.
She had expected as much.
She wasn't trying to erase Mark from the girls' lives.
Not yet.
She simply couldn't bear the thought of him walking into the NICU with the woman who had occupied his attention while their daughters were being born.
"Can I ask one thing?"
"Of course."
"Please don't let him turn this place into an argument."
Dr. Reeves gave a small nod.
"We'll protect the care environment. That applies to everyone."
That afternoon, Mark entered the NICU alone.
He had washed Madison's perfume from his skin.
Changed his clothes.
Shaved.
Practiced what he would say.
Nothing prepared him for the sight of his daughters.
Grace lay beneath a soft blanket.
Lily wore a tiny knitted cap.
Hope was surrounded by machinery.
Mark stopped in front of the first incubator.
"That's Grace?"
The nurse nodded.
"Yes."
He stared.
His daughter was smaller than any newborn he had ever seen.
He moved to Lily.
Then to Hope.
His expression changed completely.
"Why does she have so many tubes?"
The nurse explained the breathing support and monitors.
Mark barely heard her.
He touched the edge of Hope's incubator.
"She looks..."
He couldn't finish.
He had always imagined his children arriving pink and healthy.
Wrapped in blankets.
Placed into his arms while someone took photographs.
He hadn't imagined tiny bodies surrounded by wires.
A machine breathing with one of his daughters.
He looked at the nurse.
"Can I touch her?"
"Let me check with her care team, and I'll show you how if it's appropriate."
A few moments later, following the nurse's careful instructions, Mark rested one clean finger gently against Hope's tiny hand.
Her fingers curled reflexively.
He inhaled sharply.
"Oh, sweetheart."
His eyes filled.
"I'm your dad."
The nurse stepped back to give him a moment.
Mark bent closer.
"I'm so sorry I wasn't here."
His voice broke.
"I should have been here."
He remained beside Hope until the nurse reminded him that the babies needed quiet.
As he turned to leave, he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked inside a protective sleeve near Grace's incubator.
Three handwritten names.
Grace.
Lily.
Hope.
Beneath them was a sentence.
Three reasons to keep fighting.
Emily's handwriting.
Mark touched the sleeve.
He had seen that handwriting thousands of times.
On grocery lists.
Birthday cards.
Notes left beside the coffee maker.
He had never imagined it would one day feel like something he had no right to touch.
Outside the NICU, a social worker approached him.
"Mr. Carter?"
"Yes."
"I'm Danielle Brooks. I understand you'd like information about supporting your daughters."
"More than anything."
She gave him a measured look.
"Then we should discuss a few things."
He nodded.
"Whatever it takes."
Danielle opened her folder.
"Your wife has requested a family-support meeting about discharge planning and the babies' future care."
Mark straightened.
"Good."
"She has also expressed concerns about returning to the marital home."
He frowned.
"What concerns?"
Danielle hesitated.
"Those are matters you'll need to discuss directly with her and, if necessary, through legal counsel."
Mark stared at her.
"She's coming home with the babies."
Danielle's expression remained calm.
"Mr. Carter, that isn't a decision you can make alone."
He felt a familiar surge of anger.
But before he could speak, Danielle added something else.
"There's also a visitor-security issue involving Ms. Vale."
Mark went completely still.
"Madison?"
"She attempted to obtain information about your daughters earlier today."
He stared.
"She came here?"
"She wasn't authorized to receive it."
Mark's jaw tightened.
"What did she ask?"
Danielle glanced at her notes.
"She wanted to know whether all three babies were expected to survive."
Mark felt the hallway tilt beneath him.
"Why would she ask that?"
May you like
Danielle closed the folder.
"Mr. Carter, that's a question you may need to ask her."
