“They’re gone, Mr. Wilder. I’m so sorry. This is the worst part of my job. We tried everything we could…”
I don’t hear the rest. I see flashes of hands as the doctor reaches out for Bria. Cecelia collapses into Frank’s arms. The doctor’s hands, Frank’s hands… Cecelia fainted.
The doctor’s words become distant, hazy. The caffeine is making my heart want to explode. Or maybe it’s not the caffeine. Maybe it’s Isabel.
Isabel. I have to get to her.
I run.
“Mr. Wilder!” the doctor shouts after me as I barge through the doors and into the main part of the hospital.
I see a woman stand up at the reception desk. How crazy to think that this woman was sitting here, probably blindly typing away at a computer while my wife was dying five doors down. She shouts for me to stop.
I see the operating room at the end of the hallway. I know enough about hospitals to know that she’s probably still in there. She’ll be in there until they get clearance from the morgue. I hate that I know that.
I hear the doctor’s footsteps behind me as I push through, and there she is, lying flat on her back, covered from head to toe in a thin, blue sheet. I only know it’s her because I see her long, blonde hair falling down the side of the metal table.
Her beautiful, golden hair.
“Isabel!” I shout, walking over to her and pulling the sheet down from her face. I don’t even realize that I’m crying until I see water hitting her perfect face. “Isabel!”
I fall to the side of the table and sob, clutching my stomach. I feel the contents of my stomach churning, and the next thing I know, I’m retching onto the floor.
I know enough about operating rooms to know that that was not okay. They’ll need to re-sterilize everything now.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and it’s the doctor. He’s speaking to me, but I don’t hear him. I get down on all fours and continue to vomit. Someone lifts me up, and I catch one last glimpse of my beautiful wife’s face before they pull me out of the room.
“Let me go!” I shout, wriggling out of the doctor’s grasp.
“Nick!” Frank warns from next to me. “Get it together.”
Fucker isn’t even crying. His own daughter is lying dead, five feet away, and he’s not even crying.
“Where’s Matthias?” I shout.
“He’s already in the morgue,” the doctor answers.
I fall onto the floor and cry into my hands. I see Cecelia walking quickly towards us, carrying Bria.
“I need a minute,” I say thickly. I get up and walk into the operating room, closing the door behind me. This time, the doctor doesn’t stop me.
Isabel looks so peaceful. I know that’s what everyone says about dead people, but it’s true. I heard her scream as we slammed into the tree. I remember her warbled shout as they flew through the windshield. I’m surprised she doesn’t look worried. She was always worried about something.
As I stare at her, I start to feel everything. I feel happy that she probably didn’t suffer. I feel angry that she was taken from me when she is my everything. I feel sad for the life Bria will lead from here on out. And then I feel guilt—the strongest emotion of them all.
This is entirely my fault.
My wife and son are dead because of me.
Because I fucking let her breastfeed him in the backseat.
Because it was raining, and we hit some water.
Because I hydroplaned.
Because they died.
They’re dead.
Dead.
I stand next to Isabel, and I brush her hair away from her forehead.
“Iz, I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “This feels like a dream, like it’s not real, and I hope to God that I wake up tomorrow, and this is just some sickening nightmare. Because if it is, I know you’ll cradle my head and shush me, telling me everything is going to be okay. Maybe we’ll make love. Maybe I’ll bring you breakfast in bed, or we’ll laugh because Bria will be banging around in her room, and we’ll wonder if she ever went to sleep in the first place.”