Before Morning Comes

Present The monitor's steady beeping is the lone sound in the dark. It feels as though it ricochets off the cold, gleaming floor and circles us while we wait. I'm worn out, and as I sit here my thoughts drift back and forth, replaying the chain of events that brought us to this lemon-scented hospital room. I shut my eyes and pray once more that everything will turn out alright while I grip the stiff white blankets in my hands. The hallway loudspeaker crackles, and then a bright female voice pages a doctor to another floor. I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, my fear that we may not survive this twisting my stomach beneath my ribs. Money can purchase plenty, but it cannot buy any promise of life. I should have realized that choosing Dean Mercer would never be the last challenge I had to face. I fell hard and quickly for my incredible quarterback, giving my family almost no time to adjust to the idea. Defying them so I could chase what my heart wanted was the hardest thing I had ever done then, but everything we've lived through this past year has shown me that letting Dean into my life was only the start. A nurse moves past in the hall outside, her shoes giving off soft squeaks on the tile. I watch my husband's eyelids flicker in his sleep, rough whiskers shadowing his strong jaw. My lip quivers on its own, and I force down the lump rising in my throat. I'm terrified. Not the sort of fear that murmurs at you softly, but the sort that takes shape in front of you and reaches in to clutch your insides. My gaze drops to Dean's chest, and I watch it fill with air and slowly fall again, each breath steady and hypnotic. Countless times I've watched him sleep like this, my own breathing moving in step with his, but tonight I can't settle enough to let us sync. Anxiety has clamped a vise tight around my lungs. I want to stay strong for him-for us, but that's hard when I know I may have to yield to the thought of letting us go. My thumb slides over the ring finger of my left hand. Dean chose my wedding ring-a beautiful reminder of how fiercely we love one another-throughout our whirlwind romance, certain from the outset that I was what he'd been missing. I was the one who still hesitated. Too many things were pushing me stubbornly another way: my own fears, the emptiness left by my late mother, and the pull of my father and brothers. When your confidence starts wavering, it's easy for the people around you to make convincing arguments that send you off course. Grant, my oldest brother, especially tried to force me down a path he believed would lead to my happiness, but now all of us can see how wrong that was. Despite my stubbornness and naiveté, it has always been Dean, ever since that first night in the dark beyond my building. "Your blood pressure is a bit high." The voice of a middle-aged nurse at the bedside startles me. Someone has switched on a light. Had I been sleeping? "If it keeps heading this way, I'll need to call the doctor." She writes a few notes on a small paper pad. I imagine our stay may already have created a shortage of note pages, each hour sending a nurse back in here to write something else down. "Okay," I say, though it comes out barely above a whisper. The nurse rests her hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. She pauses at the sink to wash her hands before leaving the room and turning off the lights. "Rosie?" Dean shifts in his sleep and adjusts his big frame, a look of pain pulling tight for a second before easing. I don't know if I have ever loved anyone more fiercely than I do right now. This man is everything to me, and I know you're never supposed to let that happen, but how could I not? I stood up for him, and he did just as much for me. That must mean something about us, and if it means I depend on his happiness to steady mine, then I accept it. The wall clock reads 1:35. We've been here for well over a full day now. When we came in, we expected the doctors would come up with an answer, but as the hours drag on, the chance that something is permanently wrong has become so loud in this silence that it nearly deafens me. It's too late-or really too early now-to call our family for company. They're all dozing in the waiting room, anxious for any word. Who could have imagined our families sharing one small space the way they are tonight? I figured they'd need more time before letting go of their separate hopes for us, but they surprised both Dean and me when they accepted us with open arms. Dean slid right into my family with ease, golfing with my father and phoning him nearly every day with business details. And I gained a mother figure, something I'd longed for after years spent trying to find my way without a mother's guidance. I feel myself start drifting again, the numbers on the clock going blurry. I try to fight it off, telling myself that whenever I fall asleep I risk wasting whatever little time we may still have left. In the end, though, sleep deprivation is more than I can fight, and I lean my head against the rumpled white sheets, letting the gentle, persistent beeps from the monitor carry me down into a dream of gentler days.