CHAPTER 7
By nine o'clock on Christmas morning, the pediatric intensive care unit was quiet, bathed in the soft blue morning light filtering through the high windows. Theo’s fever had dropped completely, and the attending physician had successfully removed the breathing tube, replacing it with a simple oxygen nasal cannula.
My son sat propped up against two oversized pillows, a tiny grin spreading across his face as he played with a wooden toy train I had ordered delivered from FAO Schwarz at dawn.
"Look, Mommy! Choo-choo!" Theo giggled, his voice still a bit raspy, but full of the innocent joy that belonged to a healthy toddler.
Sienna sat on the edge of the bed, her face glowing with emotional relief as she brushed a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
"Yes, baby," she smiled softly, looking over at me standing by the door with a warm tray of hot cocoa and pastries. "Daddy brought the train for you."
Theo turned his big brown eyes toward me, holding out the wooden locomotive with a joyful squeal that made my throat tighten with overwhelming love.
"Play, Dada!" he chirped, patting the edge of his mattress invitingly.
I set the breakfast tray down on the side table and walked over, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed and taking the small toy from his hand.
"I'd love to play, buddy," I said, my voice thick with emotion as I rolled the train back and forth across the soft blanket.
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Sienna watched us quietly, the painful distance that had separated us for two long years slowly melting away under the magical warmth of our shared love for our child.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the private room opened without a knock, revealing the tall, imposing figure of my father, Charles Van Doran, flanked by two corporate attorneys in dark coats.
