“He’s asleep. There’s no need to worry. What is the last thing you remember before you woke up in the ER next to him?”
“Um, I don’t know. I remember sounds, and my head hurt. I couldn’t move. I heard him scream next to me.”
“Would you like me to tell you? Witnesses have already given statements.”
I nod, wincing as I sit up.
“Your vehicle was hit from behind. You went into traffic, and the front of your car was nicked by another going forty-five miles per hour. Amazingly, there were no casualties. You flipped a couple of times.”
I don’t know if I want to hear this.
“The wreck was severe. You both were caged inside. No bystanders could get you out. A witness explained that he could hear you crying, saying your baby was hurting. He could see you but couldn’t pull you out. You were strapped in your seat by the seatbelt, but the car had sunken in to the point that you both were on the ground. Your husband was impaled by a sizeable piece of glass from the windshield. It went through his abdomen, thankfully just missing his liver.”
I feel as if someone’s struck me. I shake my head, and seeing my fear and confusion, she comes to sit by me on the bed. “You have an extremely brave husband who loves you dearly.”
I stare at her, frightened for why she feels the need to say that.
“He pulled out the glass, which was the reason he nearly bled out. But in doing so, he managed to unbuckle you. He got himself out and pushed you toward a bystander.”
The last words I said to him light up my mind, bringing me shame.
“That’s what the witness said. You were voicing your concern about the baby, and that was when he moved, despite them telling him not to.” She smiles kindly. “He fell unconscious before he was able to get himself out, but they managed to drag him out.”
My chest inflates and deflates with difficult wheezes as I struggle with the recounting of it all. Benjamin risked his life, pulled the glass from his body to make sure me and the baby would be safe. And he flatlined because of it.
“You arrived at the same time. You miscarried in the ambulance while unconscious. You woke up in the ER, and you know the rest.”
“How did they fix the wound? Is he okay otherwise?”
“They moved him into surgery, and they sealed the wound. You both needed a blood transfusion, and he will have more before he can leave the hospital. He sprained his right wrist and arm, but other than cuts from the glass, he’s all right. It will take a while for him to recover, not only from the wounds, but from the trauma. For the both of you.”
“I need to see him.”
“He just got out of surgery.”
“I need to be next to him when he wakes up. I need to.”
She tugs on my hand. “You need to take it easy. You’ve got a sizable gash on your head, and you’ve just miscarried. I suggest you try to sleep and we’ll wake you the moment he stirs.”
Frustrated, I lay back into the pillows, forcing myself to remain calm.
“Is there anyone we should call for either of you?”
I nod, giving her Tiffany’s number, so she can be aware for press releases and the swarm of calls they are bound to get, if they haven’t already started trickling in.
She leaves me so she can make that call, leaving me in a single room, the television on low. There’s a game show playing on it in Spanish. The sky is dark, indicating we’ve been in here all day long.
The events hit like a nightmare, and I begin to cry again, wishing I can forget them.
I don’t understand how any of this happened. This morning, Benjamin and I were wrapped in each other, insanely happy. And then we weren’t.
It’s my fault.
We were hit so fast, and the result was so bloody, so horrific, that it doesn’t even seem real. No one person can experience all of this in a day, can they? It shouldn’t be possible.
I’m in a hospital gown. My body is empty. My heart is broken. And I can’t move. I can’t focus on my husband. I can’t leave here.
I can only mourn.
