Part 3: “What Amanda Decides”
Amanda sensed something was wrong right away.
“What happened?”
Andrew sat down across from her.
“Before we talk about the baby again, I need to tell you something I should’ve told you before our first date.”
“Okay,” Amanda said, her brow tightening. “That’s not a sentence anybody wants to hear from their husband.”
Andrew began to explain.
He told her about his father, the follow-up that never happened, and the time that might have been lost.
Finally, he admitted he had recognized her history before ever stepping into her hospital room.
Amanda stood up and walked outside alone.
None of us followed.
After a while, the door opened.
“Mom?”
I stepped onto the porch beside her.
She looked out across the yard.
“Was I a project?”
“I can’t answer that for him, sweetheart.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think he loves you.”
She turned to me.
“And I think loving you didn’t give him the right to decide what you could handle.”
Amanda gave a small nod before asking to speak with Robin.
When I explained what had happened all those years earlier, he sank into a chair.
“That doctor told me we were worrying too much.”
“I remember.”
“I told you maybe he was right.”
“You were trying to believe a doctor.”
“I was her father.”
Later, Robin confronted Andrew.
“Did your father ever blame us for not coming back sooner?”
“Never.” Andrew paused. “He blamed himself for making you believe you didn’t need to.”
Robin turned away.
That evening, Amanda finally asked Andrew to sit beside her.
“When you looked at me in that hospital, who did you see?”
“At first? The girl my father never forgot.”
Amanda visibly flinched.
“And after?”
Andrew considered his answer.
“The morning you could barely sit up and spent ten minutes arguing that your mother needed a better chair.”
Amanda couldn’t quite hold back a smile.
“After that, you were Amanda.”
She studied him carefully.
“I believe you love me. I don’t believe you had the right to hide this.”
“I didn’t.”
Andrew explained that his father had later pushed for additional reviews of unresolved pediatric cases.
“Was he a good doctor?” Amanda asked.
“Sometimes.”
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“It’s the only one I trust.”
Amanda looked at the knitted booties.
“And the name?”
Andrew opened his mouth, then thought better of it.
“I don’t know what you’ll want.”
“Good.” She touched one bootie. “Neither do I.”
“What do you need from me?” he asked.
“Time.”
“Okay.”
Much later, Andrew began collecting the remaining dishes.
As he reached for the booties, he hesitated.
“Where do you want these?”
Amanda pointed to the windowsill.
“There.”
He carefully set them where she’d indicated.
One of the booties tipped onto its side.
Andrew instinctively reached to straighten it, but stopped himself.
Amanda noticed.
He pulled his hand back and sat down again.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
