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<\/p>\nThe doctor\u2019s words seemed to drain all the air from the examination room.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe need additional imaging immediately.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I looked from his face to the blurry ultrasound images on the screen, trying to force my mind to understand what my eyes could not.<\/p>\n
Ethan sat beside me on the narrow hospital bed, small and pale in the blue paper gown they had given him. His sneakers dangled over the edge. One hand rested protectively over his stomach.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d he whispered. \u201cAm I in trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n
That question broke something in me.<\/p>\n
I took his hand and squeezed it gently.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, sweetheart,\u201d I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. \u201cYou\u2019re not in trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
But I was terrified.<\/p>\n
The doctor, whose badge read Dr. Leonard Hayes, softened when he looked at my son.<\/p>\n
\u201cEthan, we just need to take some clearer pictures inside your belly,\u201d he said. \u201cIt won\u2019t hurt. You\u2019ll just have to lie still for a little while.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan nodded, but his eyes stayed on me.<\/p>\n
Children always know when adults are pretending not to be scared.<\/p>\n
A nurse came in a few minutes later and explained that Ethan needed a CT scan first, then possibly an MRI. She spoke gently, carefully, but every word sounded like it was coming from far away.<\/p>\n
Clearer images.<\/p>\n
Abnormal structure.<\/p>\n
Possible mass.<\/p>\n
Further evaluation.<\/p>\n
Mass.<\/p>\n
That was the word that stayed.<\/p>\n
I tried not to think of tumors. I tried not to think of cancer. I tried not to imagine anything sharp, dark, or impossible growing inside my little boy.<\/p>\n
But fear is cruel.<\/p>\n
It fills in blanks before truth arrives.<\/p>\n
As they wheeled Ethan down the corridor, I walked beside him, holding his hand. The hospital lights passed overhead in bright white squares. Somewhere nearby, a baby cried. A monitor beeped steadily behind a curtain. Nurses moved quickly through the halls, calm in the way only people who see emergencies every day can be calm.<\/p>\n
I felt like I was walking underwater.<\/p>\n
When we reached the imaging department, they let me stay until Ethan was settled on the scanner table. He looked so small beneath the large machine.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t move, okay?\u201d the technician said kindly.<\/p>\n
Ethan swallowed. \u201cWill Mom stay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be right outside,\u201d I promised.<\/p>\n
He nodded, but his lower lip trembled.<\/p>\n
Before they moved me behind the glass, I leaned close and kissed his forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re brave,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n
He looked up at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t feel brave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat still counts.\u201d<\/p>\n
The CT scan took only minutes, but it felt endless.<\/p>\n
Behind the glass, I watched my son disappear slowly into the machine. My palms were damp. My heart beat so hard it hurt.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes stood nearby with another physician, a woman with silver-rimmed glasses and a serious expression. They spoke quietly while the images appeared on the screen.<\/p>\n
At first, I tried not to look.<\/p>\n
Then I couldn\u2019t stop myself.<\/p>\n
The pictures were strange, shadowed layers of gray and white. I could make out bones, organs, outlines. Nothing made sense to me.<\/p>\n
But it made sense to them.<\/p>\n
Or worse, it didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
The woman in glasses leaned closer to the monitor.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes crossed his arms.<\/p>\n
The technician stopped typing.<\/p>\n
Nobody said a word.<\/p>\n
That silence was worse than screaming.<\/p>\n
Finally, Dr. Hayes turned to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Mitchell, after this, we\u2019re going to move Ethan upstairs and admit him overnight.\u201d<\/p>\n
My knees nearly buckled.<\/p>\n
\u201cAdmit him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. We need specialists to review these images.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat specialists?\u201d<\/p>\n
He hesitated.<\/p>\n
\u201cA pediatric surgeon. A radiologist. Possibly genetics.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGenetics?\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n
The word felt completely disconnected from a stomachache.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes took a breath.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know this is frightening. But we need to understand exactly what this structure is and where it came from.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere it came from?\u201d I stared at him. \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
Before he could answer, Ethan\u2019s scan finished. The technician opened the door and helped him sit up.<\/p>\n
The conversation ended immediately.<\/p>\n
Adults are good at hiding horror from children.<\/p>\n
Not always from each other.<\/p>\n
They moved us to a private room on the pediatric floor. There were cheerful animal paintings on the walls, a small television mounted high in the corner, and a recliner beside the bed where parents were meant to spend sleepless nights.<\/p>\n
I called my husband, Mark, from the hallway.<\/p>\n
He answered on the second ring.<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah? Everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
The word came out broken.<\/p>\n
He was silent for half a second.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re at the hospital. Ethan\u2019s being admitted.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey found something on the ultrasound. Then on the CT.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know, Mark.\u201d My voice cracked. \u201cThey won\u2019t tell me clearly yet. They asked if you were here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I was there?\u201d His confusion sharpened. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m leaving now.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hung up before I could say anything else.<\/p>\n
I stood in the hallway clutching my phone, watching nurses pass with medication carts and clipboards. On the other side of the glass window, Ethan was sitting in bed, staring at the TV without really watching it.<\/p>\n
He looked exhausted.<\/p>\n
Too exhausted for ten years old.<\/p>\n
A memory hit me suddenly.<\/p>\n
Ethan at five, racing through a sprinkler in the backyard, laughing so hard he fell into the grass.<\/p>\n
Ethan at seven, missing his two front teeth and proudly declaring that he was going to become an astronaut-paleontologist.<\/p>\n
Ethan last Christmas, asleep under the tree after insisting he could stay up to catch Santa.<\/p>\n
And now Ethan here.<\/p>\n
Small.<\/p>\n
Silent.<\/p>\n
Sick.<\/p>\n
I pressed a hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying.<\/p>\n
Mark arrived forty minutes later, still wearing his work shirt, his hair damp from the rain outside. He looked frantic.<\/p>\n
The moment Ethan saw him, he sat up.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark crossed the room in three strides and wrapped him in his arms.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, buddy,\u201d he said, but his voice shook. \u201cYou scared us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d Mark kissed the top of his head. \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
For a moment, watching them together nearly undid me.<\/p>\n
Mark had been there when Ethan took his first steps.<\/p>\n
He had taught him to ride a bike.<\/p>\n
He had spent entire Saturdays building Lego cities on the living room floor.<\/p>\n
Whatever the doctors wanted from him, whatever strange question they needed answered, Mark was Ethan\u2019s father in every way that mattered.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes returned just after nine o\u2019clock with two other doctors.<\/p>\n
The woman from imaging introduced herself as Dr. Priya Nair, pediatric radiologist. The older man beside her was Dr. Samuel Ortiz, pediatric surgeon.<\/p>\n
They asked if we wanted to speak outside Ethan\u2019s room.<\/p>\n
That alone told me enough to make my hands go cold.<\/p>\n
Mark looked at me.<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
We stepped into a small consultation room down the hall. It had soft lighting, a box of tissues on the table, and two chairs positioned across from the doctors.<\/p>\n
I hated that room immediately.<\/p>\n
Rooms like that exist for bad news.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes sat forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. and Mrs. Mitchell, we\u2019ve reviewed Ethan\u2019s ultrasound and CT scan. We still need MRI confirmation, but we have a clearer idea of what we may be seeing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark reached for my hand under the table.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Dr. Ortiz folded his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is a mass in Ethan\u2019s abdomen. It appears to be located near the retroperitoneal space, close to several important blood vessels.\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cA tumor?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Ortiz paused.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt may not be a typical tumor.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him.<\/p>\n
Dr. Nair turned a tablet toward us. The scan appeared on the screen, marked with arrows.<\/p>\n
She spoke carefully.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe structure has organized tissue. We see calcifications that resemble bone formation. There are areas that appear similar to soft tissue. And there is something that looks like a rudimentary spinal column.\u201d<\/p>\n
The room went silent.<\/p>\n
I thought I had misheard.<\/p>\n
\u201cA what?\u201d Mark said.<\/p>\n
\u201cA spinal column,\u201d Dr. Nair repeated gently.<\/p>\n
My hand slipped from Mark\u2019s.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s rare,\u201d Dr. Hayes said. \u201cExtremely rare. But there is a condition called fetus in fetu.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words meant nothing to me.<\/p>\n
Dr. Ortiz explained.<\/p>\n
\u201cDuring early pregnancy, in very rare cases involving twins, one twin may become enclosed within the body of the other twin. The enclosed twin does not develop normally and cannot survive independently. Sometimes it remains undetected for years.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him, unable to speak.<\/p>\n
Mark leaned back in his chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re saying there\u2019s a twin inside our son?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPossibly,\u201d Dr. Ortiz said. \u201cAn undeveloped twin-like mass. We need more imaging and testing before we can be certain.\u201d<\/p>\n
My mind rejected it.<\/p>\n
Ethan had never had a twin.<\/p>\n
No doctor had ever mentioned a twin.<\/p>\n
Every ultrasound during my pregnancy had shown one baby.<\/p>\n
One heartbeat.<\/p>\n
One tiny body curled inside me.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I whispered. \u201cThat can\u2019t be right. I carried him. I had scans. There was only Ethan.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is often the case. If this occurred very early, before the first ultrasound, there may have been no visible second fetus by the time you were examined.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark stood suddenly and walked to the wall.<\/p>\n
He placed both hands on the back of his neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it dangerous?\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Ortiz\u2019s expression grew serious.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt can be. The mass may be pressing on organs or blood vessels. That could explain Ethan\u2019s pain, nausea, weight loss, and fatigue. We need to remove it surgically.\u201d<\/p>\n
Surgically.<\/p>\n
The word hit like thunder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to operate on my son?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe believe surgery may be necessary,\u201d he said. \u201cBut first we need the MRI to map its exact position.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t stop staring at the image.<\/p>\n
Bone.<\/p>\n
Soft tissue.<\/p>\n
Spinal column.<\/p>\n
Inside my child.<\/p>\n
A twin who had never become a child at all.<\/p>\n
A twin who had stayed hidden for ten years.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy did you ask for his father?\u201d Mark said suddenly.<\/p>\n
The doctors exchanged a glance.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes answered.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen we see unusual findings like this, we need a complete family history. Twin pregnancies, genetic conditions, anything that may help us understand what we\u2019re dealing with.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark looked relieved.<\/p>\n
But only for a second.<\/p>\n
Because Dr. Nair looked down at the file.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is another reason,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
My heartbeat changed.<\/p>\n
Dr. Hayes gave her a brief look, then turned back to us.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe mass has features that are unusual even for this condition. We may need genetic testing from both parents and Ethan to determine whether the tissue is related to him in the expected way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the expected way?\u201d I repeated.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo confirm whether it is genetically his twin,\u201d Dr. Hayes said.<\/p>\n
Mark sat down slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd if it isn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n
Nobody answered right away.<\/p>\n
The silence became unbearable.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf it isn\u2019t,\u201d Dr. Ortiz said at last, \u201cthen we would need to consider other explanations.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat other explanations?\u201d I demanded.<\/p>\n
\u201cMrs. Mitchell, let\u2019s not get ahead of the evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n
But it was too late.<\/p>\n
My mind had already started racing into places I did not want to go.<\/p>\n
A mass with bone.<\/p>\n
A hidden twin.<\/p>\n
Genetic tests.<\/p>\n
The father.<\/p>\n
Mark looked at me, his face pale and tense.<\/p>\n
\u201cSarah.\u201d<\/p>\n
I knew what he was asking without words.<\/p>\n
Had there been something he didn\u2019t know?<\/p>\n
Someone he didn\u2019t know?<\/p>\n
The answer was no.<\/p>\n
Absolutely no.<\/p>\n
But fear has a way of making even the innocent feel accused.<\/p>\n
I turned back to the doctors.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo whatever tests you need. But save my son.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dr. Ortiz nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is our priority.\u201d<\/p>\n
That night, neither Mark nor I slept.<\/p>\n
Ethan dozed fitfully in the hospital bed while machines hummed softly around him. Every so often, he woke and asked for water, or reached for my hand, or whispered that his stomach hurt.<\/p>\n
At two in the morning, Mark stepped out to call his mother.<\/p>\n
When he came back, his face looked different.<\/p>\n
Harder.<\/p>\n
Not angry exactly.<\/p>\n
Guarded.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou okay?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
He nodded too quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
But he didn\u2019t sit beside me.<\/p>\n
He stood near the window, staring out at the dark parking lot below.<\/p>\n
\u201cMark.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you know twins run in my family?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
I blinked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy grandmother had a twin who died at birth. Mom just reminded me.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at him, too exhausted to understand why his tone felt strange.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat could explain it, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at Ethan.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why do they need genetic testing?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause doctors test things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not an answer.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you asking me something?\u201d<\/p>\n
His jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m trying not to.\u201d<\/p>\n
The words hurt more than I expected.<\/p>\n
After everything\u2014after ten years of diapers, birthdays, fevers, school concerts, and bedtime stories\u2014one strange scan had put doubt in his eyes.<\/p>\n
I lowered my voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cEthan is your son.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n
His face twisted.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m scared, Sarah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI watched those doctors look at each other like something was wrong beyond the mass.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSomething is wrong. Our child needs surgery.\u201d<\/p>\n
He flinched at the sharpness in my voice.<\/p>\n
For a moment, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then Ethan stirred.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
I went to him instantly.<\/p>\n
Mark stayed by the window.<\/p>\n
The MRI happened the next morning.<\/p>\n
They gave Ethan medication to help him stay still. I sat beside him until his eyes grew heavy, stroking his hair while he tried to make jokes.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf I have an alien in my stomach,\u201d he murmured, \u201ccan I name it?\u201d<\/p>\n
My throat tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not an alien.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I still name it?\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled because he needed me to.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat would you name it?\u201d<\/p>\n
He thought for a moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cBob.\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed softly, even as tears blurred my vision.<\/p>\n
\u201cBob?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBob the stomach monster.\u201d<\/p>\n
The nurse chuckled.<\/p>\n
Then Ethan\u2019s eyes fluttered closed.<\/p>\n
When they took him away for the MRI, I sat in the waiting room with Mark. There was a fish tank against one wall. Bright orange fish drifted through blue water, peaceful and oblivious.<\/p>\n
Mark stared at them for nearly twenty minutes.<\/p>\n
Then he said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t look at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor last night.\u201d<\/p>\n
I folded my hands in my lap.<\/p>\n
\u201cI need you to be his father right now. Not a man looking for betrayal in a hospital scan.\u201d<\/p>\n
He closed his eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d His voice broke. \u201cI\u2019m terrified that we\u2019ll lose him.\u201d<\/p>\n
That softened me.<\/p>\n
Not completely.<\/p>\n
But enough.<\/p>\n
I reached for his hand.<\/p>\n
This time, he held on.<\/p>\n
Hours later, Dr. Ortiz met us in the same consultation room.<\/p>\n
The tissue box still sat in the center of the table.<\/p>\n
I hated it even more now.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe MRI confirms a complex mass,\u201d he said. \u201cIts structure is consistent with fetus in fetu, though unusually developed in some areas.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow soon does he need surgery?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSoon. The mass is pressing against part of the intestine and may be affecting blood flow. I recommend surgery tomorrow morning.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tomorrow.<\/p>\n
My stomach dropped.<\/p>\n
Mark squeezed my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are the risks?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
Dr. Ortiz did not hide from the question.<\/p>\n
\u201cBleeding, infection, damage to nearby organs or vessels. But leaving it there carries increasing risk. Ethan is symptomatic. It needs to come out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded because there was no other choice.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo it.\u201d<\/p>\n
They drew blood from all three of us that afternoon.<\/p>\n
Ethan complained more about the needle than the idea of surgery, which somehow made him seem more like himself.<\/p>\n
The rest of the day passed in a blur of consent forms, anesthesiologists, nurses, questions, and signatures.<\/p>\n
By evening, news had reached our family.<\/p>\n
My mother arrived crying.<\/p>\n
Mark\u2019s mother brought a stuffed bear, though Ethan insisted he was too old for stuffed animals before tucking it under his arm.<\/p>\n
Everyone said the same things.<\/p>\n
He\u2019s strong.<\/p>\n
Doctors are amazing.<\/p>\n
Everything will be okay.<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
I thanked them.<\/p>\n
I wanted to believe them.<\/p>\n
But when the room finally emptied and Ethan fell asleep, I sat beside him and watched the rise and fall of his chest.<\/p>\n
I thought about the thing inside him.<\/p>\n
The lost twin.<\/p>\n
Had it once had a heartbeat?<\/p>\n
Had it been part of him from the beginning?<\/p>\n
Had some hidden fragment of another life been waiting all these years to announce itself through pain?<\/p>\n
At midnight, I went to the hospital chapel.<\/p>\n
I had not prayed seriously in years.<\/p>\n
Not because I didn\u2019t believe in anything.<\/p>\n
But because life had been busy, ordinary, full of lunches to pack and bills to pay and laundry that never ended.<\/p>\n
Now ordinary life felt like a country I had been exiled from.<\/p>\n
The chapel was empty except for one woman asleep in the back pew.<\/p>\n
I sat in the front and folded my hands.<\/p>\n
No grand words came.<\/p>\n
Only one sentence.<\/p>\n
Please don\u2019t take my son.<\/p>\n
I repeated it until my throat hurt.<\/p>\n
When I returned to the room, Mark was sitting beside Ethan, holding his hand.<\/p>\n
He looked up at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told him about the summer we went to Door County,\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was asleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe likes that story.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe part where he dropped my phone in the lake.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite everything, I smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said the fish needed GPS.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark laughed quietly, then covered his face with one hand.<\/p>\n
His shoulders shook.<\/p>\n
I went to him.<\/p>\n
For a while, we held each other beside our sleeping child.<\/p>\n
Fear did not disappear.<\/p>\n
But it became something we carried together.<\/p>\n
The next morning came too fast.<\/p>\n
Ethan woke groggy and nervous.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill it hurt?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot during,\u201d I said. \u201cThey\u2019ll give you medicine so you sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about after?\u201d<\/p>\n
I hesitated.<\/p>\n
\u201cA little. But they\u2019ll help.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded, trying to be brave.<\/p>\n
Then he looked at Mark.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, buddy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf Bob is real, can I see a picture?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark\u2019s face changed.<\/p>\n
He glanced at me.<\/p>\n
Then he forced a smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll ask the doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n
The surgical team came at seven.<\/p>\n
They let us walk with Ethan until the double doors.<\/p>\n
That was where we had to stop.<\/p>\n
No parent should ever have to let go of a child at hospital doors.<\/p>\n
Ethan looked suddenly very small again.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
I bent down.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m right here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll be here when I wake up?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe second you open your eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He turned to Mark.<\/p>\n
\u201cPromise?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mark kissed his forehead.<\/p>\n
\u201cPromise.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then the doors opened.<\/p>\n
The nurse wheeled him through.<\/p>\n
And my son disappeared.<\/p>\n
The surgery lasted four hours.<\/p>\n
Then five.<\/p>\n
Then six.<\/p>\n
Every minute carved something out of me.<\/p>\n
Mark paced.<\/p>\n
I sat.<\/p>\n
Then I paced.<\/p>\n