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Veronica is on life support. She’s not going to make it.

Good.

I know that sounds disgusting, but what's more disgusting is the fact that she was shooting heroin into the veins in her feet for months. Reason for the feet? So no one would see the track marks on her arms. She lied so many times about her doctor’s appointments and any prenatal care after her second trimester. The last time she shot up put her into labor and made her heart stop. The ruptured placenta didn’t help either. Her mother found her on the floor in a pool of blood. We haven’t found out all the details of how this came to happen, when Veronica started with the drugs, and how her mother couldn't have known. So now there’s this precious, four-pound preemie baby girl in the NICU with what the doctors call NAS. Neonatal abstinence syndrome. This happens when the mother takes drugs during pregnancy. The baby becomes addicted as well and now this miracle, this gift is going through drug withdrawal.

Mack is a mess. He looks a mess. He won’t talk or eat. So many times he has wanted to go to the ICU where Veronica is. I’m afraid of what he would do or how he would act. Why he would want to see her is beyond me. I feel no sympathy. I feel nothing for her. What she has done—it’s unforgivable.

The baby has a tube going up her nose down to her belly so she gets proper nourishment. They are giving her medicine to help with the withdrawal process. It’s killing him. It hurts to see him hurt.

I’ve convinced him to go to the cafeteria with me to at least grab coffee. I’m the one who does the talking. Mack just gives one-word answers or head nods.

“You need to shave. I’m not sure the lumberjack look works for you.” I’m trying to make things light, but he just stares into space. I change the subject by reaching in my bag and pulling out a baby name book.

I place it on the table in front of us and flip to the girls’ names. He looks down at the book, then to me with an unreadable expression.

“She can’t be Baby Cooper forever, Mack.”

Rubbing his way overgrown stubble, he struggles to get out words that are within him.

“I can’t name her. Not yet. What if she . . .” He looks away from me and, being who I am, I finish his sentences like I always do.

“Die, Mack? What if she dies?” His shoulders drop, and he closes his eyes as though the overwhelming thought of it makes him feel defeated. But he can’t feel that way.

I grab his hand and run my thumb over it. He shifts back and forth in his chair but allows me to touch him.

“Hey, Mack, look at me.” He quivers out his breaths. Tears fill his eyes, and I need him to look at me so I can reassure him that everything will be okay. Even though I’m not so sure myself.

“She needs a name, Mack. You're her dad and always will be. No matter what, this is up to you. It’s also up to you not to give up hope. She’s a fighter. I can tell. She’s like you, Mack. She’s strong.” Mack pulls his hand away from mine and uses it to swipe the fresh tears that slide down his cheeks. He slams his back against the chair and looks embarrassed for crying.

“I’m not strong, Rinny. I didn’t expect all of this. I don’t know how I can face it if something is wrong with her, or if she dies. I don’t think I’m strong enough to handle it. That’s my kid in there.”

My own chest aches with the pain he feels; when he hurts I hurt. Why? Because I love him. I love with him with everything that I’m made of.

I make my way to his side of the table and sit beside him. I carefully grab his face so he turns towards me. I meet his wet, reddened eyes, and give him a tight smile. He looks at me blankly, but at least he looks at me. My hand remains on his face. I’m not used to feeling the ruggedness of his stubble, and I’m not used to looking into his eyes and seeing anguish.

“You listen to me, MacIntyre Cooper. I don’t know a stronger person than you. I don’t know a braver one, either. The reality is, yes—that little baby’s mother is going to die and you are what she’ll have left. But something good will come out of it. You’ll be her hero and her protector. She’s a lucky girl because of that. Never doubt yourself about what you can and can’t do.” He continues to well up, and he takes in deep, steady breaths. Our eye contact doesn’t break, and I’m thankful for that. It means he’s listening to me and, right here and now, I make a decision. The biggest, most spontaneous decision anyone can make. Not because I love him, but because I love her as well.

“I’ll help you, Mack.” He furrows his brows and looks at me confused.

“I’ll help you raise her, Mack. I’ll do it with you. We’ll do it together.”

He glances around the room looking for another answer floating around in the air. When he looks back at me with those eyes I have grown to love, a sudden look of relief is evident. I reach up and touch his scar. This time, it’s not because I’m sorry for something I did to him, but because I’m sorry he’s in pain and I want to take it away. I want to take away all the worry. I know I can’t do it, but I can make him aware that I’m here. As long as I live I won’t leave him. I won’t leave her. Silence falls between us and then, unexpectedly, his head falls onto my knees and he grabs my legs and sobs. I stroke the back of his hair and neck and let him weep. Words couldn’t make him stop crying, or ease his pain. Through his tears, all I know is that each one that falls represents the acceptance that I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.

Two weeks have gone by. There’s been no change in Veronica’s condition. The doctors told her mother that the only thing keeping her alive is the breathing tube down her throat. It’s taken a lot of convincing from doctors and psychiatrists that Veronica’s mother should give up hope of her daughter surviving. Mack still hasn't seen her, but now that today is the day they’re taking her off life support, I think he should.

When he goes, he takes a picture of their daughter with him.

I sit with Mack in the family waiting room, which we usually occupy. The baby is doing better than expected. She’s off the feeding tube and accepting formula that the nurses in the NICU give her. She gained a few ounces as well. Mack gets to hold her for a few minutes a few times a day. He rocks her and the nurses showed him how to swaddle her. From the research I’ve done on the NAS, swaddling and close contact help with the recovery of a baby coming off withdrawal.

“Mack, I think it’s the right choice. I know she can’t see her but I think it’s the right thing to do.”

His elbows are perched on his knees and his foot taps nervously.

“I don’t know, Rinny. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“I agree; I also think it’s the right thing to do. You’re a better person. She’s still her mother.”

Mack looks at me with great skepticism. I just wink at him and nod.

He goes to Veronica’s room. Grace is sitting by her bedside. Rosary beads in one hand and the bible in the other. She chants a prayer and rocks as her eyes are tightly closed.

A nurse follows us in.

“Mrs. Matthews?” Grace opens her eyes and looks towards the doctor and the social worker standing beside him. Mack and I stand in the entrance of the room and allow the doctor and the social worker to say what they need to say.

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

He stares down at the picture of the baby and shakes his head. “No, just sad.”

The doctor and the caseworker escort a crying Mrs. Matthews out. She eyes Mack and me and cries harder when she does. She’s about to lose her daughter. I get it. I do. I can’t imagine losing a child, especially like this.

Mack wanted me to be with him when he went to see Veronica. I didn’t want to come. I thought it should be just him. He told me he needed me.

We go in the room. It’s quiet except for the slight beeping noises coming from the machines attached to Veronica keeping her alive.

Her face and hands are swollen. Her eyes are sunken in and the skin around them appears gray. Her messy and dirty hair is spread out around the pillow. The dark roots of her dyed hair show through. The tube that comes out of her mouth is whitish color and taped to her skin. It all looks so odd and Mack can barely look at her. I don’t sit. I lean my back against the wall at the foot of her bed. Mack looks so perplexed

He pulls a chair up to the side of Veronica’s bed and sits. He looks so uneasy. I can see him continuously swallowing, shifting in his chair, and clearing his throat. It seems like hours go by but really it’s only been minutes.

“Mack?” He looks up to me as I say his name. He scoots the chair even closer to Veronica’s bed

Mack holds the picture of the baby in front of her; fully knowing she can’t see it but it seems to bring him some comfort.

“Veronica, this is your daughter. She’s tiny, she’s still weak, but she’s a fighter. She’s going to be okay. I want you to know that I will take good care of her. She is my life now. Her whole life will be in my hands and I’m okay with that. Not that you're leaving me with a choice anyway. Even if you were okay, this child would still be my whole life. I’m sorry you won’t be able to see her grow. I’m sorry you won’t be there for her firsts. I’m sorry you won’t get to see her walk down the aisle.” Mack’s voice starts to crack and tears fall. He quickly regains his composure.

“But
I
will be there for all of them. For all the birthdays and holidays. I’ll show her how to hit a ball and how to be a young lady. I’ll be there when she succeeds and fails. I’ll teach her right from wrong.” His voice is strong and booming. It sounds angry. He’s angry. His eyes are no longer soaked but he wipes his fallen tears from his face.

“I can’t forgive you right now because of the pain you just put her through, but I believe someday I will. I’ll tell her the good things about you if she asks. I promise. I will keep her safe from the bad. Safe and sound.”

He gets up from the chair and pushes it back with his body. He touches Veronica’s hand and closes his eyes. There’s no miraculous wake up because of Mack’s words. There’s just a body lying here and soon she’ll be dead. Mack straightens up and begins to walk away from the bed. He turns around slowly. He looks to me with no expression then turns in Veronica’s direction and looks at her body from the foot of her bed.

“I’ve named our daughter Haven Hope.”

He named her.

Her name is Haven Hope and now she and her father will be my life.

CORRINE ~ PRESENT DAY

I
hate MRIs. They’re noisy and uncomfortable. I have to lie completely still and hold my breath when they tell me to.

I close my eyes and hold my breath. I hear the machine rumble loudly around me.

Boom.

Ba-boom.

Boom.

Over and over until they’re pulling me out.

I sit in my doctor's office with my parents and wait. And wait.

A knock at the door signals Dr. Thomas is here. He enters with a large folder in his hand.

He sits down at his over-sized desk and opens my chart as he addresses me.

“Corrine, so good to see you. So how have you been feeling?” I shrug.

“Depends on the day, I guess.” He gives a slight smile.

“Well, I see no new lesions on your MRI, so as of now, you are in what we call relapsing remitting.”

Dad asks, “So what exactly does that mean?”

“It means the current lesions on the brain are non-active. They are lying dormant at the moment.”

I breathe after holding it once again. Mom lets out a cry and gets up, kisses my cheek, and dabs her eyes with a tissue. My dad wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in.

“I’m glad you are all happy about this news but we have to keep in mind that there still are precautionary measures you need to take. MS is a tricky disease, Corrine, and not taking proper care of yourself may wake up those lesions and you don’t want that. New lesions can come along at any time so we will need to do a new MRI in three months. I would advise no driving because of the damage to the optic nerves. When you follow up with the Ophthalmologist, you can talk to him about it. Also, no caffeine, watch your diet, and your stress level. I recognize the stress you're under because of the circumstances with your boyfriend may be out of your control, but the medications you're on for the anxiety will help with that. And you're still seeing a therapist?”