It was three o'clock and Dr. Richard was exhausted. He was standing in his office, one hand on his lower back and the other holding the ultrasound of the triplets, trying to figure out if Baby B had flipped again.
The door opened without a knock.
Said Marco, his 30-year-old husband, walking in with two coffees and a paper bag.
Marco was the complete opposite of Richard in that moment: light, fast, with that energy of someone who can still bend over without thinking about it. He left everything on the desk and, without asking, stood behind him and put both hands on his lower back, massaging.
—I told you not to do the full round today.
—And I told you I'm the head of this unit.
Richard answered, closing his eyes for a second from the relief.
—I can't send my resident to do my job.
Marco laughed and crouched down a little to be at belly level.
He said to the huge belly.
—Can you stop kicking Daddy's bladder? He has to work.
Richard showed him the ultrasound.
—Look, Baby C has your nose.
—No way, all three have your stubbornness.
Marco said, and kissed him on the cheek.
—Come on, sit for five minutes. I'll finish reviewing the file for room 418.
Richard finally let himself fall into the chair, sighing. Marco put a cushion behind his back and stayed by his side, reviewing papers with him, as if that small office was, for a little while, their home.
Outside the monitors were beeping, but in there, with the ultrasound of the three on the desk, everything was on pause.
romaincrisis
amandla
kianamaiart
gracieabrams