Read Online Tomorrow's Dream by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn - Free Book Online

is the grief talking, not you.”
    â€œWhy should I feel grief? My baby is going to be fine!”
    He did not even acknowledge that she had spoken. “In the first place, there was no way we could have predicted that your baby would be born with an impaired heart.”
    â€œBut Joel—”
    â€œYes, Joel has a heart condition. But yours is fine, Kyle. And so are the hearts of both your birth parents. We have also asked them about their families, and so far as they know there has been no previous record of heart problems.” He studied her face. “So you see, my dear, there was no way anyone could have predicted this.”
    â€œThere must have been. You missed something, or they didn’t tell you everything.” Her hands gripped the purse tighter.
    â€œKyle,” he said, drawing the word out into a long sigh. “I don’t normally do this, but I am going to prescribe something for you. I want you to take one of these tablets every morning and evening. Will you do that for me?”
    Kyle waited while he scribbled on the little white pad; then she accepted the slip of paper and walked out. As she left the office she decided she would go directly to the hospital. It did not matter what anyone said. Charles was there and Charles needed her. She would sit there and let him know that someone loved him and wanted him to get better. He was going to get better.

    Kyle’s limbs felt leadened as she left the hospital. Had they let her, she would have stayed on. She hated to leave. There really was no reason for going home anyway. Her baby remained there in the stark, antiseptic hospital ward. That was where she belonged as well.
    She had stood there for hours, looking down at her baby. He remained shut off from her by the protective incubator glass. Each rise and fall of the tiny chest had made her wish to gasp in response, as though she might breathe on his behalf. Her arms ached to hold him. To draw him close to her bosom and provide the nourishment that would sustain the little life. To cuddle him close and whisper in his ear the words of endearment that only a mother knows. To feel the beat of the small heart and the warmth of his body cradled against her.
    But the entire time she had stood there, the glass partition had mocked her feelings. Her arms had remained empty—empty and yet at the same time heavy. She could only wait and pray and plead with whispered messages through the glass for the baby not to give up. Beg her child to fight on, strive to take another breath, and for the little damaged heart to continue to beat. Please. Beat again .
    Kyle had laid her head on her arms and rested on the cold glass surface. The pleas came from her very soul. She was so helpless. So removed. So shut away from the infant that was hers. Over and over she silently shouted a single thought, one which rang through her heart’s empty recesses, This isn’t how it is meant to be .
    Now as Kyle walked away from the hospital, she heard the nurse’s insistent tones drone through her head. “It’s time for you to leave for the day, Mrs. Adams.” As if anyone had the right to tear her away from her baby. But the nurse had spoken with such authority and finality that Kyle had not dared to argue.
    But as she walked she felt resentment building inside of her. What right did they have to treat her as though she had no authority over the care of her own child? She should be the one to demand, “It’s time for you to leave for the day, nurse.” Why couldn’t she have her own baby in her own home like a normal mother? Why the daily trips to the hospital ward to peer anxiously through a glassed partition, her fingers numb with the ache to caress, her ears straining to hear each breath, her whole body tensing at each small movement. Why?
    Kyle knew the answer—it was the tiny defective heart. But why, with all of their knowledge and all of their fancy equipment, why