The next morning, Jonathan called his assistant and cleared his schedule. Then he took Sophia shopping. A surreal experience that involved learning what size clothing fouryear-olds wore, what foods they liked, what kind of toothbrush made brushing teeth less of a battle. Sophia helped, patiently explaining things to him as if he were the child.
They visited Rebecca everyday, slowly. Color returned to her face, strength to her voice. The doctor said she’d been pushing herself too hard for too long, that her body had simply given out. She needed rest, proper nutrition, and to actually take her medication regularly instead of rationing it to save money. During those visits, Jonathan learned Rebecca’s story.
She’d been a nursing student when she got pregnant. The father, a fellow student, had vanished immediately. Rebecca had dropped out to work, planning to return to school once Sophia was older, but that day never seemed to come. Every dollar went to rent, food, child care. She worked doubles and triples, slept 4 hours a night, and still could barely make ends meet.
I try so hard, she told Jonathan one afternoon, tears in her eyes. I want to give her everything. Dance classes and nice clothes and the books she loves, but there’s never enough. Jonathan found himself telling her about his own mother, about growing up in a small apartment not unlike hers, about watching his mother work herself to exhaustion to give him opportunities.
She’d be proud of you,” he said quietly. “You’re doing what she did. You’re putting your child first always. That’s everything. On the fifth day, as Rebecca was being discharged, Jonathan made a decision. He’d spent those 5 days living with Sophia, taking her to preschool, reading her bedtime stories, learning to make the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets she loved.
