I stayed beside Clara until the room grew quiet again.
Her hand rested in mine.
The phone remained on the table.
I tried to concentrate on the things that were certain.
Clara was stable.
The doctors were watching her.
She had asked me to stay.
Those facts mattered more than the questions I kept asking myself.
At least, I wanted them to.
After a while, Clara opened her eyes.
"Have you been sitting there the whole time?"
"Most of it."
"You must be exhausted."
"I'll manage."
She gave me a tired look.
I almost laughed because it was so familiar.
Even after everything that had happened, she could still recognize when I was pretending to be stronger than I felt.
I wondered whether she could recognize anything else.
I wondered whether she knew how frightened I was of asking the wrong question.
She shifted her hand in mine.
I loosened my grip.
"Is that better?"
She nodded.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.
I watched her face and tried to remember what it had looked like before we came to the hospital.
I remembered ordinary mornings.
Conversations about things that didn't matter much.
The way she sometimes started telling me something while I was doing another task, then stopped when she realized I wasn't listening carefully enough.
I had always told myself I would listen properly later.
Later, when I finished what I was doing.
Later, when we had more time.
Later, when there wasn't something else demanding my attention.
I was beginning to understand how often people used that word to avoid the present.
Clara moved her head against the pillow.
"Are you thinking about something?"
I looked at her.
"Yes."
She waited.
I felt the familiar urge to say it was nothing.
I didn't.
"I'm worried."
Her eyes stayed on mine.
"About the baby?"
"About everything."
She lowered her gaze.
I couldn't tell whether my answer had upset her or whether she simply didn't have the energy to respond.
I waited.
Then she said, "I know tonight has been frightening."
I nodded.
"I thought I was going to lose you."
The words came out before I could soften them.
Clara's expression changed.
For a moment, she looked more awake than she had all night.
"I'm still here."
"I know."
I looked down at our hands.
"I just needed to say it."
She squeezed my fingers weakly.
I wanted that small gesture to settle something inside me.
It helped.
It didn't settle everything.
A nurse came in to check Clara's condition.
I moved aside while she worked.
Clara answered the questions she was asked, and the nurse checked the equipment beside the bed.
When she finished, she told Clara to continue resting.
Then she left.
I returned to my chair.
Clara watched me sit down.
"You can go home for a little while if you need to."
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
She didn't argue.
I wondered whether she genuinely wanted me to stay or whether she felt responsible for keeping me there.
I hated that I had begun questioning even her kindness.
I wanted to stop.
I wanted to return to the simple understanding that had once existed between us.
But understanding could not be forced.
It had to be rebuilt through words and actions, and I didn't yet know what needed rebuilding.
Clara turned toward the table.
Her phone was still lying beside the cup.
She looked at it for a few seconds.
Then she looked away.
I noticed the movement.
I didn't comment on it.
Instead, I asked whether she wanted the cup moved closer.
She said no.
I rested my hands on my knees.
The silence returned.
This time, I didn't try to fill it with a question about water, sleep, or whether she needed another pillow.
I simply stayed.
After several minutes, Clara spoke again.
"I don't want you worrying about things you can't control."
I looked at her.
"I can't help worrying."
"I know."
She paused.
"Just try not to make everything harder than it already is."
I felt the words land between us.
She hadn't raised her voice.
She hadn't accused me of anything.
Still, I heard the part she hadn't said.
I was making something harder.
I wanted to explain that I wasn't trying to.
I wanted to tell her I was doing my best to give her space.
But I also knew that good intentions didn't erase the effect of my behavior.
So I nodded.
"I'll try."
She closed her eyes.
I sat beside her, thinking about what she had said.
I had been so focused on the possibility that Clara was keeping something from me that I had barely considered what my own fear was doing to the room.
I watched every movement.
I remembered every pause.
I treated every unfinished sentence as something I needed to solve.
Perhaps she felt that attention even when I didn't speak.
Perhaps it made her less willing to tell me anything.
I couldn't know.
But I could change what I did next.
I could stop searching for an answer in every small gesture.
I could give her time without pretending that time alone would fix everything.
And when we were both ready, I could ask the question plainly.
I didn't know whether that conversation would bring us closer.
I didn't know whether I would like what I heard.
I only knew that I couldn't continue living inside a question I was too frightened to ask.
Clara opened her eyes once more.
She looked at me and gave a small nod toward the chair.
"Stay there."
I settled back.
"I'm not going anywhere."
For the moment, that was the only promise I could make without pretending to know what would happen next.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: I Stopped Looking at the Phone and Started Listening to Clara, Only to Discover How Little We Had Actually Said to Each Other
The Night Everything Changed, and the Question I Was Too Afraid to Ask Before Walking Through That Hospital Door
Part 9 of 20
