For days, united by grief and fear, they had sat by Emma’s bedside, uncertain if she could possibly pull through, but God had spared her life. Then they had been faced with the long ordeal of healing and the very real threat that she would never walk again.
That had been more than Larry could bear. Consumed by guilt, he had walked away from the hospital one night and never looked back.
Until that moment, Brianna had thought she had a solid marriage. She had respected her husband, a man she had known most of her life, a man she had loved with every fiber of her being. She kept thinking he would come to his senses and come home, and for a long time she had been prepared to forgive him.
When the divorce papers had arrived in the mail a few weeks later, Brianna had been shocked. Filled with anger and pain at the betrayal, she had signed them with little regret. Or so she had told herself. Looking back, she could see now that Larry’s selfish act had left her with a heart filled with resentment and bitterness. She doubted she would ever trust another man. If a man as honorable as she had thought Larry to be could show such weakness in the face of adversity, how could she possibly risk her heart with anyone else?
Not that she had time for a personal life now, anyway. Her days began at dawn and stretched until midnight. As exhausting as they were, she was grateful to have her baby alive and a job that not only paid the exorbitant medical bills, but was totally challenging and fulfilling. For a time after the accident she had been terrified she might never find work in her chosen profession again.
During those first weeks of Emma’s recovery, Brianna had taken so much time off from work that she had lost her job. Stunned, she had been devastated as much by the loss of her insurance as by the blow to her career. How could Emma possibly recover if her mother couldn’t afford the best possible care? Brianna had needed to find a new job in a hurry. In a highly competitive field, that was easier said than done, and she was approaching the job search with more than the usual baggage that might daunt a prospective employer.
To her amazement, Bryce Delacourt had overlooked the firing and the demands of her daughter’s recovery when she’d applied for the top geologist’s position at his company. With astounding compassion, he had also seen to it that her insurance kicked in for Emma’s treatment, running roughshod over his carrier to make it happen. He would have her undying loyalty forever because of that.
They had made a deal, though, that no one at work would know about Emma. She didn’t want their pity, but more important she didn’t want special treatment because of her situation. She needed to have the people she worked with respect her as a professional. She was being brought in to supervise people who were older than she, people who had been there longer. She desperately needed to have credibility, to gain their trust. She knew all too well that no matter what their credentials, too often single moms weren’t taken seriously in the workforce. Because of that, Brianna threw herself into her work 150 percent and still found time for her daughter at the end of the day.
Running late tonight, she dashed inside the treatment facility with its brightly lit, sterile interior, and as always she was struck by the fact that there was no mistaking that this was just one step removed from a hospital. Only in the pediatric wing had an attempt been made to create an atmosphere that was both more cheerful and more like home. Here colorful murals had been painted on the corridor walls, the small area of the cafeteria reserved for children had been decorated in brilliant shades of blues, yellows and reds, and toys were strewn about as carelessly as they might be in a child’s bedroom at home.
“Hi, Gretchen,” Brianna whispered to the evening supervisor, waving as she passed the desk where the young woman was on the phone.
Gretchen glanced up, then covered the phone’s mouthpiece and called out to her. “Hey, Mrs. O’Ryan, wait a sec, okay?”
Brianna’s heart thudded dully as she waited for the nurse to finish her call. Had something happened today? Was Emma regressing? Her progress had come in fits and starts, in frustratingly slow little bursts, followed by weeks of status quo. All too often there were twice as many steps backward as forward. Brianna grinned ruefully at the mental pun. In Emma’s case, there had been no “steps” at all.
Gretchen, tall, blond and athletic, strode out from behind the desk, a smile forming. “Don’t look so worried,” she said, giving Brianna’s suddenly icy hand a warm squeeze. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Emma’s fine. I just wanted to be with you when you saw her.”
“Why?” Brianna asked, still not entirely reassured.
“You’ll see. She’s in the sunroom, watching TV.”
Brianna followed her down the hall, her mind whirling. It wasn’t something bad. Gretchen wouldn’t torture her if it was—she’d say so straight out. She was the most direct person Brianna had dealt with at the facility, always telling Brianna the unvarnished truth, even when the doctors danced around it, even when it was painful to hear. And because Gretchen was on in the evenings when treatments were over and the facility was settling into a quieter rhythm, she had more time to spend with anxious parents like Brianna.
In the sunroom, which was mostly glass, she spotted Emma at once with her halo of strawberry-blond curls, watching reruns of a favorite sitcom. For a moment, just the sight of her daughter was enough to clog Brianna’s throat with tears. She was so blessed to still have her baby. Everything else in her life was just window dressing.
“Emma,” Gretchen called out. “Your mom’s here.”
The wheelchair slowly rotated as Emma struggled with the mechanized controls she had finally mastered only a few days earlier. A frown of concentration knit her brow. She didn’t look up until she’d stopped in front of Brianna. Then that shy little smile stole across her face.
“Hi, Mama.”
Brianna leaned down and kissed her, resisting the desire to linger, to cling. Even at five, even under the circumstances, Emma craved her independence.
“Hey, baby. What’s up? Gretchen has been hinting you have a surprise for me.”
Emma nodded, clearly bursting with excitement. “Watch.”
Ever so slowly, with an effort that was almost painful to see, she slid to the edge of the seat, then placed her feet gingerly on the floor. Her knees wobbled uncertainly for a heartbeat, then stiffened. Finally she released her hold on the wheelchair and stood. All alone. Not quite upright, but completely, amazingly, on her own. Tears filled Brianna’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“Oh, baby, that’s wonderful.”
“I’m gonna walk, Mama. I am,” Emma said with fierce determination.
Overcome with emotion, Brianna knelt and gathered her in a fierce hug that for once Emma didn’t resist. For the longest time words wouldn’t come.
Then she leaned back, dabbed at her eyes and beamed at Emma. She stroked her baby’s cheek.
“Sweetie, I am so proud of you. You are going to be walking in no time at all. I never doubted it for a minute,” she said, even though she had. Late at night and all alone, she had worried and wondered if Emma would ever run and play like other kids again, if she would have the friends and the adventures she deserved.
This sweet, poignant moment was the reason she worked herself to exhaustion. It made all the sacrifices, the loneliness and the single-minded focus of her life worthwhile. Emma was going to walk again.
