Chapter 8 - The Longest Forty-Seven Minutes of His Life
Dominic reached the hospital while Carrie was already in the operating room.
Margaret stood in blue scrubs outside the surgical corridor.
“What happened?”
“Placental abruption.”
The words meant almost nothing to him.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“The baby?”
“They’re delivering her now.”
Dominic moved toward the doors.
Margaret grabbed his arm.
“You can’t.”
“I need to be there.”
“You’re not authorized.”
His face twisted.
“Mother, please.”
Margaret had never heard him say the word that way.
Please.
Not an order.
A plea.
She looked toward the nurse.
The nurse shook her head.
“I’m sorry.”
Dominic sank into a chair.
Forty-seven minutes.
Later, he would know exactly how long he waited.
At minute eight, he remembered Carrie telling him she felt the baby kick for the first time.
He had been on a conference call.
He had put one hand against her stomach while continuing to discuss quarterly projections.
At minute fourteen, he remembered the second miscarriage.
Carrie asleep beneath hospital blankets.
Dominic crying silently beside her.
At minute twenty-two, he remembered Salvatore’s funeral.
Carrie holding his hand through the entire service.
At minute thirty-one, he remembered Vanessa saying, Get out of my bedroom.
And himself doing nothing.
At minute thirty-nine, he walked into the hospital chapel.
He had not prayed in years.
He sat in the last pew.
“I don’t deserve either of them.”
His voice broke.
“Fine.”
He looked toward the empty altar.
“Take the company. Take the house. Take everything.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“Just don’t take them.”
A nurse found him eight minutes later.
“Mr. Marino?”
He stood so fast he nearly fell.
“Your daughter has been delivered.”
He stopped breathing.
“She weighs four pounds, six ounces.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
His knees almost gave out.
“And Carrie?”
The nurse smiled gently.
“She’s stable.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
The air returned to the world.
His daughter was in the NICU.
Carrie remained in recovery.
Margaret was allowed to see her first.
Dominic waited.
Again.
He was beginning to understand how much of love was waiting without control.
An hour later, Margaret came out.
“She’s awake.”
“Can I see her?”
“She asked about the baby.”
“Of course.”
“She hasn’t asked about you.”
Dominic nodded.
The old version of him would have been insulted.
This version understood.
“Can you give her this?”
He opened his hand.
Carrie’s wedding ring.
Margaret stared at it.
“Where—”
“Vanessa took it.”
Margaret’s face hardened.
“I don’t want Carrie thinking I took it from her room.”
Margaret accepted the ring.
“What should I tell her?”
“The truth.”
“That’s new.”
He almost smiled.
“I know.”
Carrie saw her daughter six hours later.
Through glass.
Tiny.
Pink.
A breathing support device beneath her nose.
Wires crossed her little chest.
Carrie cried before she even reached the incubator.
“My baby.”
The NICU nurse smiled.
“She’s a fighter.”
Carrie placed one trembling finger through the opening.
Her daughter’s hand closed around the tip.
Everything else disappeared.
The marriage.
Vanessa.
The board.
The money.
Only this remained.
Margaret stood behind her, crying too.
“What will you name her?”
Carrie looked at the tiny face.
They had discussed names for months.
Dominic liked Isabella.
Carrie liked Claire.
Neither had agreed.
Now, unexpectedly, another name came.
“Sofia.”
Margaret smiled.
“Why Sofia?”
“Salvatore’s mother.”
Margaret’s eyes widened.
Then filled.
“He would have loved that.”
“Sofia Claire Marino.”
The name settled perfectly.
Later, back in her hospital room, Margaret placed Carrie’s wedding ring on the table.
Carrie stared at it.
“Where did you find that?”
“Vanessa had it.”
Carrie’s face went pale.
“She took it?”
“Apparently.”
Carrie looked away.
Margaret sat beside her.
“Dominic brought it.”
“Where is he?”
“Outside.”
Carrie turned back.
“He’s still here?”
“He has been here since before the surgery ended.”
Carrie’s throat tightened.
“Has he seen Sofia?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He said he would wait until you gave permission.”
That surprised her.
Margaret touched her hand.
“He has spent thirty-three years as Salvatore Marino’s son and fourteen years as the man everyone is afraid to tell no.”
She paused.
“Perhaps waiting is good for him.”
Carrie looked toward the window.
“Do you think I should forgive him?”
Margaret answered immediately.
“That is the wrong question.”
“What’s the right one?”
“Whether forgiveness requires reunion.”
Carrie stared.
Margaret continued.
“You can forgive a person and still decide they no longer get to live in the center of your life.”
Carrie’s eyes filled.
“I loved him.”
“I know.”
“I probably still do.”
“I know.”
“That makes me feel weak.”
“No.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Going home only because you love him would be weak.”
Carrie looked at her.
“Loving someone while refusing to let them keep hurting you is not.”
Carrie stared at the ring for a long time.
Then she picked it up.
She did not place it on her finger.
She put it inside the drawer.
“Tell Dominic he can see his daughter.”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“Only his daughter?”
Carrie nodded.
“For now.”
Ten minutes later, Dominic stood beside the incubator.
No bodyguards.
No expensive suit jacket.
No phone.
He stared at Sofia as if the entire world had been reduced to four pounds and six ounces.
“Hi.”
His voice broke.
The nurse stepped away.
Dominic touched one finger to his daughter’s hand.
Sofia gripped it.
His face crumpled.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Carrie watched from a wheelchair near the doorway.
He did not know she was there.
“I’m your dad.”
Dominic swallowed.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t better before you got here.”
Carrie closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Then Dominic whispered something she would remember for years.
“I can’t promise your mother will forgive me.”
He looked at his tiny daughter.
“But I promise you’ll never have to wonder whether I chose you.”
Carrie quietly rolled her wheelchair away before he saw her.
For the first time since she left the Marino estate, she did not feel anger.
She felt something more dangerous.
Hope.
May you like
And she was not yet ready to trust it.
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