“I am sorry,” he says after a very long time. He brings his mouth to my forehead and kisses it, one big hand never leaving my cheek. “I am sorry for everything that’s happened to you because of me.”
“No.” It’s another croak. My throat almost hurts with the effort.
“Shh. Just rest.”
Again, I try to nod. Again, I’m not sure I succeed.
“I love you, Ivy. I know that now. I’ve known it on some level for a while, I think. Or at least I’ve felt it even if I couldn’t or wouldn’t put words to it. I love you.”
I smile, open my mouth to tell him I love him, too, but he puts a finger to my lips when I try but struggle to form the words.
“I know, angel. Shh. You deserve so much better than me, but you’re stuck with me because I can’t be without you again. I can’t live without you, Ivy. I won’t.” His voice breaks. He kisses my mouth, and I close my eyes. It’s a chaste kiss. Lips touching lips. And my heart flutters at the sensation. At this thing I have missed. Santiago kissing me. Santiago holding me. I missed it. Even as I have lain here these months—months—in this strange sleep, I have missed him.
“And I will do right by you. I will make you happy. I will be worthy of you. Of your love. I swear it. I swear it on my life, my angel.”
40 Ivy
Several weeks pass before I am released from the hospital, and Santiago helps settle me in the wheelchair I must be rolled out in before setting our little bundle in my arms.
Elena De La Rosa. I chose it because it means bright, shining light. That’s what she is for me. For us.
Santiago has yet to decide on her middle name, but she’s gone without a first name for the first weeks of her life, so this is a start. He apparently refused to choose a name without me.
He closes one hand over my shoulder and squeezes as he leans close to kiss my cheek. “Are you sure she’s not too heavy?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “She barely weighs nine pounds.”
“All right. If she gets too heavy—”
“I know. I’ll tell you.”
He nods, runs a knuckle over Elena’s cheek as she smiles up at us before closing her eyes and nuzzling into her blanket.
I’ve been in a coma for three months. Elena somehow survived the accident. No. Not accident. It makes me sick to think of it. Of Abel, my own brother, willing to run me down to wound Santiago.
I wipe my eye, and Santiago squeezes my shoulder again.
In those months, Elena grew strong inside me for as long as she could or as long as my body could manage it. She was early but not so early that she couldn’t survive.
Eva showed me all the videos she’d made of Elena moving in my belly while I lay still. It’s eerie to see it, see myself like that, see my stomach move with this human being inside it. And I have decided in the weeks that I’ve been back that Eva’s a lot like my husband. Obsessive and a little crazy in the best way.
She was upset I didn’t choose her first choice of name, which was—surprise—Evangeline. But she’d done some research choosing names with care and swore she knew it would be a girl all along.
My father is home now. He’s healthy and more fit than I’ve seen him in a long time, actually. He’s still working with his physical therapist and will for a while and has modified his diet even though we know his unhealthy habits weren’t what put him in a hospital. But it’s better that he takes care of himself. I feel that Hazel moving back into the house with Michael is the reason for a lot of this. She’s pretty strict when it comes to Michael, and she won’t let my dad eat anything she wouldn’t let her son eat. My dad complained about it, but I could see he was happy to have her home. Happy to have them both home.
My mother is gone, and a divorce is in the works. I hope she’ll find happiness, too. I know she didn’t visit me in the hospital. Not once. Eva told me that, but I don’t think she meant to. I would have known anyway because my memories have returned, and I recall hearing Eva in my room talking to me or the others who kept watch over me. I recall many of their visits even though they feel like wisps of dreams. Not once did I hear my mother’s voice.
The doctors never did solidify what they think happened to me. Why I remained unconscious and unresponsive for so long. There is a theory that it was my body’s reaction to the physical impact of the accident after such stressful months. A sort of PTSD. It scares me sometimes to think of it. To think it could happen again even though the rational part of me knows I’m safe. I haven’t told Santiago this. He already keeps vigil over me 24/7, and I don’t need him worrying any more than he already is.
I look down at Elena’s face as she stirs in her sleep when we get outside. It’s a chilly day, so I tuck her blankets closer.
I am sad about having missed her final months in my belly. Sad that she may have felt alone with me so unresponsive to her movements. At least I got to feel her once before everything.
I’m also sad I can’t breastfeed her. My milk never did come in. But Santiago reassures me that I will breastfeed all of our other children and that Elena will be fine. She is healthy and strong.
Looking at the photos the nurses managed to snap
