“Where are you?”
Greg’s voice remained controlled.
Barely.
Emma answered through the phone.
I could hear hospital sounds behind her.
“Emergency department.”
“Daniel?”
“With Anna.”
“At home?”
“No, here.”
“Is the baby okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you bleeding?”
“Dad.”
“Sorry.”
He closed his eyes.
“What have they told you?”
“Not much.”
“When did you faint?”
“This afternoon.”
“What were you doing?”
“Standing in the kitchen.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Daniel caught me.”
Greg exhaled.
Good Daniel.
He did not say it.
“What do you need?”
The question came sooner this time.
Emma was silent.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
Greg sat.
I sat beside him.
“Do you want us there?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Greg closed his eyes.
“Okay.”
No argument.
No assumption.
Asked.
Answered.
“We’ll come.”
“Tomorrow is fine.”
“We can get tonight’s flight.”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“I said tomorrow is fine.”
I watched the battle happen in his face.
Every instinct screamed now.
Emma had fainted.
Hospital.
Postpartum.
Unknown cause.
He wanted motion.
“I heard you.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
His hand tightened around mine.
“We’ll come tomorrow.”
After the call, Greg opened the airline app.
His fingers shook.
“There’s a seven-ten.”
“In the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Book it.”
He looked at me.
“You think tomorrow is okay?”
“She told us tomorrow.”
“What if something changes?”
“Then she’ll call.”
He nodded.
Then stared at the phone.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
We packed.
Not frantically.
At least not visibly.
At eight that evening, Daniel called.
Emma’s blood tests showed significant anemia.
The doctors believed it was related to postpartum blood loss and recovery.
They were treating her.
She was stable.
Greg asked whether she was being admitted.
Yes.
Overnight observation.
“Anna?”
“With me.”
“You can handle her?”
I closed my eyes.
Daniel paused.
Greg heard himself.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No. That sounded terrible.”
Daniel laughed tiredly.
“I can handle my daughter.”
“I know.”
“Actually…”
Greg straightened.
“What?”
“I could use help tomorrow.”
His expression changed.
“With what?”
“Just being here.”
Greg’s eyes filled.
“Yeah.”
He swallowed.
“Absolutely.”
After the call, he sat at the kitchen table.
“I did it again.”
“What?”
“Asked if he could handle Anna.”
“You corrected yourself.”
“After saying it.”
“Progress is not never making the old mistake.”
He looked at me.
“What is it?”
“Catching it before you build a house inside it.”
He smiled faintly.
“That sounds like something printed on a mug.”
“I’ll order one.”
“Please don’t.”
The next morning, our flight left on time.
Greg did not treat this as a personal favor from aviation.
We reached the hospital shortly before noon.
Daniel met us downstairs carrying Anna.
The baby was asleep against his chest.
He looked exhausted.
Greg approached.
For a second I thought he would take her automatically.
Instead he asked, “Want me to hold her?”
Daniel’s relief was immediate.
“Yes.”
Greg took Anna.
She stirred.
Then settled.
“Hi again.”
He kissed her head.
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face.
“I haven’t slept.”
“Go.”
Daniel looked at him.
“What?”
“Go sit down. Eat. Whatever you need.”
“What about—”
“I’ve got her.”
The sentence carried no claim.
Only an offer.
Daniel nodded.
“Thanks.”
We went upstairs.
Emma looked better than I expected.
Still pale.
Still tired.
But sitting up.
Greg entered.
She smiled.
“You listened.”
He frowned.
“About what?”
“Tomorrow.”
He understood.
“You told me tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“I hated every second.”
“I know.”
He kissed her forehead.
“How are you?”
“Tired.”
“Scared?”
“Less.”
“Good.”
He sat.
Anna woke in his arms.
Emma reached.
Greg immediately handed her over.
No hesitation.
Emma smiled.
“You’re getting good at that.”
“At what?”
“Giving babies back.”
He laughed.
“I have extensive recent training.”
The doctor arrived later.
She explained the anemia.
Emma’s levels were low enough to require close monitoring and treatment, but she was responding.
No evidence suggested a more dangerous complication.
Greg listened.
He asked concise questions.
What symptoms should prompt immediate return?
What follow-up was needed?
What limitations mattered?
Then he stopped.
The doctor left.
Emma stared at him.
“What?”
“That was reasonable.”
“I can be reasonable.”
“Historically disputed.”
Greg smiled.
Then Emma became serious.
“I thought I was dying.”
The room changed.
Daniel took her hand.
I sat on the other side.
Greg remained near the foot of the bed.
“When I woke up,” she continued, “Daniel was yelling my name.”
Her voice shook.
“Anna was crying.”
Greg looked down.
“I thought I’d leave her.”
He moved toward her.
Then stopped.
“Can I hug you?”
Emma began crying.
“Yes.”
Greg wrapped his arms around her.
She pressed her face against his shoulder.
For a long time, he said nothing.
No promise that it would never happen.
No assurance he could not make.
When Emma finally pulled away, Greg sat beside her.
“I used to think being a parent meant preventing the terrible thing.”
Emma wiped her face.
“That seems impossible.”
“It is.”
He smiled sadly.
“Took me awhile.”
“So what does it mean?”
Greg looked at Anna.
“Showing up when the terrible thing scares you.”
Emma leaned against him.
“That sounds better.”
“Less impressive.”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to be impressive.”
He looked at her.
“I know.”
And he did.
That evening, Emma was discharged.
We stayed at their apartment.
This time, the spare room.
Because they asked.
Greg made dinner.
Daniel slept.
I held Anna while Emma showered.
Nothing dramatic happened.
That was the gift.
At midnight, Anna cried.
I woke.
Then heard footsteps.
Greg.
I followed.
He stood outside Emma and Daniel’s bedroom.
The door was partly open.
Anna cried again.
Greg raised his hand to knock.
Then stopped.
Inside, Daniel murmured.
The crying softened.
Greg lowered his hand.
He turned and found me behind him.
“They’ve got her.”
“Yes.”
We went back to bed.
In the morning, Emma was tired but steady.
Greg made coffee.
She sat in the rocking chair with Anna.
The old scratches caught the morning light.
Greg leaned against the doorway.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something weird?”
“Sure.”
“Were you lonely after we left?”
He looked at me.
Then back at her.
“Yes.”
Emma nodded slowly.
“I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t your job to fix.”
She looked down at Anna.
“That sounds familiar.”
“It should.”
“Did I make it worse by moving away?”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
His answer was firm.
“You living your life was never something you did to me.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
Greg continued.
“My mistake was treating the space you left as proof something had been taken.”
“What was it?”
“Space.”
He smiled.
“For something else.”
Emma looked at Anna.
“Like rescue dogs?”
“Apparently.”
I laughed.
Greg did too.
Then his phone buzzed.
He checked it.
A rescue message.
He read it and put the phone away.
“What?” Emma asked.
“Nothing urgent.”
“You’re not answering?”
“Later.”
She smiled.
That afternoon, Michael called.
He wanted an update.
After hearing Emma was improving, he said something that surprised us.
“Claire and I have news too.”
Greg immediately looked worried.
Michael laughed.
“Good news.”
“Oh.”
“We’re moving back.”
Greg froze.
“What?”
“Not home-home.”
“I know.”
“Back to the States.”
“When?”
“Probably summer.”
“Where?”
“Seattle.”
Greg stared.
“That’s still far.”
Michael laughed.
“Dad.”
“No, I mean—”
He stopped.
Then smiled.
“That’s great.”
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
No disappointment disguised as concern.
No calculation of miles.
No suggestion that Michael choose somewhere closer.
“Claire got an offer there,” Michael explained.
“And you?”
“My company approved the transfer.”
“That’s wonderful.”
Michael smiled.
“We’ll be in the same country.”
Greg laughed.
“Low bar.”
“Progress.”
After the call, Greg stood by the window.
I joined him.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to suggest Seattle neighborhoods?”
“I have thoughts.”
“Of course.”
“But I’m keeping them.”
I kissed his cheek.
“Growth.”
Two days later, Emma felt strong enough that we prepared to leave.
At the door, Greg hugged her.
“Call if you need us.”
Emma smiled.
“Or?”
He caught it.
“Or if you don’t.”
“Better.”
Daniel shook his hand.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me.”
Greg’s expression changed.
He glanced at Anna.
Then back at Daniel.
“You earned that before I gave it.”
Daniel seemed surprised.
Greg smiled.
“My delay.”
They hugged.
On the flight home, Greg slept.
Actually slept.
While his daughter recovered hundreds of miles away.
While his granddaughter depended on two other people.
While the rescue functioned without him.
I watched him for a while.
Then I looked out the window.
The man beside me was still Greg.
Still anxious.
Still inclined to make lists.
Still capable of turning a minor household repair into an engineering assessment.
Change had not replaced him.
It had loosened his grip.
When we landed, he turned on his phone.
There were nine messages.
He read them.
None were emergencies.
Then he stopped at one.
A photograph from Nina.
Susan and Steve were sitting together in a sunny window.
Steve was bigger now.
Strong.
Beneath them lay the faded blue blanket.
Greg showed me.
“They kept it.”
“Of course.”
He smiled.
Then another message appeared.
Harold’s daughter.
Walter had died that morning.
Greg’s smile disappeared.
He read the sentence again.
Then once more.
I touched his hand.
He looked at me.
And grief, familiar now in a different form, came quietly into his face.
Click here to continue reading: PART 24: Walter’s Final Goodbye Brought Greg Back to the Question That Started Everything, and This Time He Finally Knew What Being Needed Meant
For Three Weeks Greg Left Our Bed After Midnight, and One Missing Family Keepsake Made His Explanation Impossible to Believe
Part 23 of 24
