Chapter 7 - The Healing Touch
The meeting took place in the bright, cheerful pediatric rehabilitation lounge on the ground floor of St. Orison Medical Center.
When Wren and Marcus walked through the double doors, Sabine was sitting on a soft play mat on the floor. Tobin was sitting in front of her, dressed in a bright yellow onesie, happily stacking blue plastic blocks.
Sabine turned and saw Wren standing near the entrance.
She stood up slowly, her face pale, worn thin by stress and grief, but filled with a profound, raw emotion.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Sabine walked across the room, stopped directly in front of Wren, and dropped to her knees, grasping Wren’s hands into hers.
"Wren," Sabine sobbed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry for what my husband did to you. For what we put you through."
"Mrs. Rusk, please stand up," Wren said, overwhelmed.
"I sat in that courtroom yesterday during his arraignment," Sabine said, looking up into Wren's eyes. "And I realized that if you hadn't been the one sitting Tobin that night... if it had been anyone else who hesitated, or panicked, or gave up when his heart stopped... my baby would be in a grave right now. You fought for my child when his own father betrayed him."
Sabine took a deep breath, gently standing up and guiding Wren toward the play mat.
"Tobin," Sabine said softly, her voice filled with tenderness. "Look who's here."
Tobin dropped his plastic block and turned around. His bright blue eyes locked onto Wren.
He let out a happy, high-pitched gurgle, reaching both of his tiny hands out toward her, his fingers wiggling in the air.
Wren froze, a gasp catching in her throat.
"Go ahead, Wren," Sabine smiled through her tears. "He remembers you."
Wren knelt on the play mat. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and lifted Tobin into her arms.
He was warm. His skin was soft and flushed with healthy pink color. And as Wren rested her hand against his tiny back, she felt the steady, strong, rhythmic beat of his heart thumping against her palm.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
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It wasn't the broken, quiet body from the apartment floor. It was a thriving, living child.
Wren pulled Tobin close against her shoulder, burying her face into his soft baby hair, and allowed the last remaining knots of trauma and fear inside her heart to finally melt away.
