Her hubby left her after learning about their baby’s illness – years later he came back, but she…
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Stronger Than Yesterday
The hospital room was too quiet. Simone Patterson opened her eyes to the rhythmic beeping beside her baby’s crib and knew, before her mind caught up, that something was wrong. “Nurse,” she called, her voice cracking. Six months ago, Simone had painted the nursery a soft yellow, dreaming of braiding her daughter’s hair one day. Now those paint samples were forgotten, tucked in a drawer at home, while she watched her baby girl, Naomi, struggle for every breath.
Dr. Helen Cross entered, her kind eyes shadowed by bad news. “Mrs. Patterson, Naomi’s test results are back. Your daughter has a congenital heart defect. It’s called tetralogy of Fallot. Without surgery, her condition will worsen.” Simone’s hands went numb. “Surgery?” Her voice sounded distant. “Multiple surgeries,” Dr. Cross said gently. “The first must happen soon. But Dr. Morrison and his team are excellent.” Simone looked at Naomi’s small body, her brown skin tinged blue—a sign she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
“I need to call my husband,” Simone whispered. She dialed Derrick four times. Each call went to voicemail. She texted, “911, hospital, need you now.” Hours passed. Her mother Lorraine arrived first, rushing in with tears streaming down her face. Simone explained everything, her voice mechanical, drained of hope. Lorraine held her tight, giving her strength.
Derrick arrived three hours later, smelling of cologne and fresh hair gel. “What’s going on?” he asked, eyes darting everywhere but Naomi. Simone stood up. “Where were you?” “I was out. I got here as fast as I could.” “I called you three hours ago.” “Don’t start. Just tell me what’s happening.” Simone explained about the heart defect, the surgeries, the costs. With each word, Derrick’s face changed—color drained, jaw tightened, eyes went distant. “How much is that going to cost?” he asked. The question hung in the air. Lorraine’s head snapped up. “Your child is sick and you’re asking about money?” Derrick’s face hardened. “Somebody has to be practical. We just bought the house. We have one income now.”
That night, Simone slept in a chair by Naomi’s crib, her hand resting on her daughter’s chest, feeling its labored rhythm. Derrick went home to “process everything.” He came back the next morning with coffee—for himself. The next two weeks blurred into consultations, insurance battles, and pre-op appointments. Through it all, Simone noticed Derrick pulling away. He stayed at work late, stopped asking about doctor’s updates, slept on the couch when he came home at all.
The night before Naomi’s first surgery, Simone sat in the unfinished nursery, holding her daughter close. Naomi’s tiny fingers wrapped around her thumb. Derrick stood in the doorway, his eyes cold. “I can’t do this,” he said. Four words. That’s all it took to break everything. “What?” Simone asked, voice trembling. “I can’t do this, Simone. I thought I could, but I can’t. This is too much. The surgeries, the recovery, the bills, the uncertainty. I didn’t sign up for this.” Simone held Naomi closer. “You didn’t sign up for this? She’s your child. Our child.” “I know, but…” He ran his hands over his face. “I can’t watch her suffer. I can’t spend my life in hospitals. I can’t handle this.”
“So what are you saying?” Silence stretched between them. “I’m saying I need to leave.” Simone stared at him, waiting for a punchline. But Derrick’s bags were packed. “You’re leaving? Tomorrow? The morning of our daughter’s heart surgery?” “I know the timing is terrible.” Simone laughed, bitter and broken. “There’s no good timing to abandon your sick child.” Lorraine appeared, her face twisted with disgust. “Get out of this house now.” Derrick grabbed his bags. At the door, he turned back. “I’ll send money for the surgery.” “We don’t want your money,” Simone said quietly, tears streaming. “We wanted you.” The door closed. The man she’d loved, the father of her child, was gone.
Simone sank to the floor, holding Naomi, and sobbed until she had no tears left. Lorraine held them both, whispering prayers and promises that everything would be okay. But how could anything be okay when the person who was supposed to stand by her side had walked away when she needed him most?
The morning of Naomi’s surgery came with a gray sky and cold rain. Simone hadn’t slept. Lorraine drove them to the hospital at dawn. Simone sat in the back seat, watching Naomi sleep peacefully, unaware that surgeons would soon stop her heart to fix it. “I’m proud of you,” Lorraine said softly. “For being strong. For loving that baby the way she deserves.” “What choice do I have?” Simone whispered. “You’d be surprised how many people make the wrong choice.”
At the hospital, Simone changed Naomi into a tiny gown, her hands shaking. A nurse came to put in an IV. Naomi cried, Simone cried, and it took everything in her not to run. Dr. Cross came by, promising, “We’re going to take good care of her. You’re doing the right thing.” Janice, Simone’s best friend, arrived just as Naomi was taken to the operating room. “I’m here, girl,” Janice said, hugging Simone tight.
The next five hours were the longest of Simone’s life. Lorraine prayed out loud, her voice steady. Simone clung to those words, even though her own faith felt shaky. Her phone buzzed—a text from Derrick: “How’s the surgery going?” Simone turned her phone face down, refusing to respond.
Finally, Dr. Cross appeared, exhausted but smiling. “She did beautifully. Her heart is functioning normally. She’s in recovery now.” Simone burst into tears, relief flooding through her. Lorraine and Janice held her, all three crying together.
When Simone finally saw Naomi, her daughter looked so small—tubes and wires everywhere—but her color was better. Simone pulled a chair close to the bed, took Naomi’s tiny hand. “Mom is here,” she whispered. “You did so good, baby. You’re so strong.” A nurse named Patricia came to check Naomi’s vitals. “How are you holding up, mama?” Simone lied, “I’m okay.” Patricia gave her a knowing look. “You don’t have to be okay right now. Give yourself permission to feel whatever you’re feeling. You’re a warrior. You showed up today. You held your baby through the scary parts. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”
Those words stayed with Simone through the long night. She refused to leave Naomi’s side, sleeping in the chair, waking every time a monitor beeped. Lorraine stayed too, helping with everything. By morning, Naomi was awake and fussy—a good sign. Her breathing tube came out, and her first real cry in hours made Simone laugh and cry at the same time.
Simone made herself a promise: She would be enough for both of them. She would work harder, love fiercer, fight stronger. Derrick had walked away, but she never would. Naomi deserved a parent who showed up.
Three days later, they went home. Simone converted the living room into a recovery space. The house felt empty without Derrick, but also peaceful. Janice came by every day. Lorraine stayed for two weeks, helping with meals and medication schedules. Friends from church brought food and cards. Simone’s coworkers sent flowers. Derrick sent a check—no note, no call. Simone tore it up and threw it away.
Six months after surgery, Simone returned to work as a nurse in the cardiac unit. Leaving Naomi was hard, but Lorraine watched her during shifts. Simone worked overtime, picked up extra shifts, researched side jobs. Janice noticed first. “Girl, you look like death. When’s the last time you slept?” “I’m fine.” “You’re not fine. You can’t pour from an empty cup.” Simone tried accepting help—letting Lorraine take Naomi for an overnight, accepting gift cards for groceries, letting friends bring dinner.
Slowly, things got easier. Naomi grew stronger, hit her milestones, her smile lit up every room. On her first birthday, Simone threw a small party. Naomi smashed pink cake, giggling with pure joy. Simone felt genuine happiness for the first time in a long while.
Three years passed. Naomi was healthy and happy, attending preschool she loved. Simone was promoted to charge nurse. The house was filled with laughter and artwork. One Saturday, Simone was pushing Naomi on the swing when the doorbell rang. She opened the door—Derrick stood on the porch, older, thinner, his clothes cheap. “Hi, Simone.” Her body went cold. “What are you doing here?” “I know I don’t have any right to show up. Please, I need to talk.”
Against every instinct, Simone stepped onto the porch. Derrick explained he’d been in therapy, working through his issues, learning why he’d run from hard things. “I want to be in Naomi’s life. I want to try.” Simone laughed, but there was no humor. “Now you want to be a father after you missed everything?” “I know I can’t get that time back. But Naomi deserves to know her father.”
Naomi peeked through the window. “Mama, who is this?” Simone knelt down. “Just someone Mama used to know.” She carried Naomi inside, locked the door, her heart pounding.
Derrick began sending letters, asking for a chance to know his daughter. Eventually, Simone agreed to supervised visits. Derrick proved himself—showing up early, staying the full time, never making excuses. Naomi warmed to him, and Simone watched from a distance, her heart tangled with fear and hope.
Gradually, Derrick earned more time with Naomi. Simone set strict boundaries, but each visit went well. Naomi came home happy, chattering about her adventures. Derrick was consistent, patient, and gentle. Simone saw growth, change, accountability.
One day, Naomi got sick again—a fever and chest pain. Simone rushed her to the hospital, calling Derrick on the way. He arrived first, pacing in the waiting room. For three hours, they waited side by side, united by love for their child. “I’m sorry for not being here before,” Derrick said. “You’re here now,” Simone replied.
Naomi recovered quickly. Derrick helped care for her at Simone’s house, sleeping on the couch, making soup, reading stories. They developed a rhythm as co-parents, working together without romance, but with respect and partnership.
On Naomi’s fifth birthday, she asked, “Why don’t you and Daddy live together?” Simone and Derrick explained that families come in all shapes, but Naomi insisted, “I want us to be together like a real family.” That night, Derrick confessed, “I love you. I probably never stopped.” Simone’s heart ached, but she was cautious. Over months, they dated slowly, went to therapy, built something new on the foundation of their shared history.
When Derrick proposed again, it was in their backyard, Naomi watching with wide eyes. “I want to marry you because you’re my best friend, because you taught me what real love looks like. Will you marry me again?” Simone thought about everything they’d survived. “Yes,” she whispered. Naomi squealed with joy.
Their wedding was small, just family and friends. Dr. Foster, their therapist, officiated. Simone’s vows were simple: “I choose you today and every day after.” Derrick promised to show up every day, in the hard times and the good.
They weren’t perfect, but they were present, committed, and stronger than before. Naomi thrived, and Simone knew she’d made the right choice—not because Derrick had never hurt her, but because they’d both done the work, both grown, both chosen to fight for their family instead of running from it.
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