Finally, when I pass inspection, I shrug on the protective gear and burst through the doors. They’re already prepping Alyssa for surgery. There’s a cloth wall set up just underneath her chest. Emily gestures for me to get behind it.
“Stay by her head, hold her hand, talk to her if you need to. Just stand back and let me do my job, okay?”
I nod silently and sit down beside Alyssa. I press a kiss to her sweaty forehead. Her temperature is a touch cooler than it was twenty minutes ago. That has to be a good sign, right?
“Okay, we’re gonna need to move fast. Once the babies are out, they’ll need to be moved to the NICU immediately. We won’t have much time to work.”
I cling to her hand tightly as I get back to my feet, unable to stomach sitting for so long. From this vantage point, I can see just beyond the wall. Emily’s wielding a scalpel poised over Alyssa’s stomach, with surgical marker trails veering this way and that on her swollen belly.
I have to remind myself to stay put. Seeing someone cut into her goes against every instinct in my body—but those babies need to come out or else they all die.
“Uri.” Emily’s not even looking at me but her voice is strong and confident. “It’s a tough thing to watch. But I’m excellent at what I do. I’m going to save her.”
I bite back my fear and my helplessness. “Do what you have to do.”
The scalpel presses into Alyssa’s stomach and ruby red blood appears instantly. I glance quickly at Alyssa’s face but she doesn’t seem to feel it.
“Don’t worry,” Emily reassures me. “She’s numbed from the neck down.”
She may not be feeling the pain right now, but that doesn’t mean her body’s not going into shock. Her blood pressure starts jumping erratically as Emily lengthens the incision. More blood. More beeping. More snarled medical jargon flying around the room like insects I can’t even begin to understand.
Emily starts barking an endless stream of orders to her staff and it takes everything I have in me not to go snatch the tools from her hands and try to do it all myself. With an agonized sigh, I drop back to my stool beside Alyssa’s head and focus on her face.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell her fiercely. “You’re a fighter, Alyssa Bugrov. You’re a fucking warrior. You’re going to survive this and so are our babies.”
I keep talking through the frantic sounds and metallic clinks of medical instruments, the unsettling screeches of this and that piece of equipment. I keep whispering to her even after I’ve stopped listening to myself. I keep trying to give her comfort hoping that some part of her can hear me right now. And then—
“Waaaahhh!”
My heart skips a beat. Never have I heard anything quite as emotional or quite as beautiful as that piercing, high-pitched shriek. Just like that…
I’m a father.
“Get that little fighter out of here,” Emily’s voice booms over my head. “The other one’s right behind her. Right… here.”
Her? Did I hear that right? Do I have a daughter?
I don’t hear the second baby, though. The nurses whisk them both off before I get a chance to see either one of them. It doesn’t matter; I can’t bring myself to look away from Alyssa. Her skin has lost all its color in a matter of seconds. She’s starting to turn gray, ashen, cold to the touch.
“Uri.” Emily’s voice snaps me out of my reverie. “I’m going to need you to leave now.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know this is hard, but you’re going to have to trust me,” she insists. “I’m going to save Alyssa but you need to give me the room to do that.”
I stand up and step back. “I’ll give you room,” I tell her. “But I’m staying right here.”
Emily meets my eyes. She must see the determination in my face because she sighs defeatedly. “Fine. But in this O.R., I’m the pahkan. Got that?”
Under different circumstances, I might have smiled. Laughed, even. But all I can do now is nod. I’ll save the laughs for later.
When she’s healed.
When she’s safe.
When she’s in my arms where she belongs.
The moment her eyes open, they focus on me. It’s the sharp, intense stare of someone who recognizes the person they’re staring at, even through the bleary delirium of drugs and pain and labor.
“Alyssa,” I whisper her name. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”