I wanted to tell him so much. I wanted to tell him how the mornings were the roughest; how losing the battle against nausea every time I woke up was hard, and having to fight to be quiet so no one would hear me throwing up was even harder. How completely disorienting it was to experience that each morning and then have to continue on with the rest of my day like nothing was wrong even though I felt completely wretched. I wanted him to know that even a whiff of what used to be my favorite foods would send me running to the bathroom; how much my life has already begun to change. About the books I read when no one was watching; the doctor's appointments I had been forced to sneak to.

I wanted to tell him that there were so many times I sat alone with the phone clenched in my hand, thinking about how easy it would be to call him and tell him the truth. That I had spent days agonizing over my decision, wondering if I was doing the right thing by not telling him and letting him prosper in his life. And that I had spent just as much time wondering what was going to happen to me and my life, and if I would be the mother this child needed or if I would fail miserably.

I wanted him to know that every single day I walked around and looked people in the face, wondering if they had any idea I was carrying a deep dark secret that was bound to come out soon. That I felt ashamed because I wasn't even able to tell my very best friend the truth and now I felt like I never could; that she would never forgive me for keeping it from her. I wanted him to know that I lay in my bed every night with my hand over my stomach, wondering how in the world I was possibly going to do this.

"She's twelve weeks old today," I whispered instead. Even though I felt an enormous amount of guilt and shame for keeping the truth from him, I couldn't help but smile as I thought of the child inside me. "I don't know if it's a girl or a boy," I continued, "But I like to think it's a she. I've always heard that boys are much more difficult for first time mothers."

My eyes studied his face, terrified that at any moment he would open his eyes and stare at me like I was crazy. Or like he hated me. But as far as I saw, there was still no change in his condition. His heart monitor continued to beep steadily.

"According to the book I've been reading, she's growing fingernails and toenails." My voice was pitched low and my eyes were still wet, but for a different reason. "The doctor told me she's healthy and on track." My hand came back to his and I bit my lip, "I'm due in early April. Can you imagine me with a belly?" I chuckled, but the sound was buried in a sob, "I can't."

I took a shaky breath. "Tae, I'm scared. I don't know if you can hear me. Part of me hopes you can so I won't feel so terrible about not telling you and making you suffer because you thought I killed our baby. But a bigger part of me really hopes you can't hear me so that I can make sure you're better and then go back home and leave you to be successful here where you belong.

"I knew the second you told me you were going to Hong Kong that you would probably never come to Seoul again. The life you're looking to keep you far from home... it keeps you busy." I laughed bitterly. "I don't know how long I planned to hide our baby from you. It's not really something you bring up in casual conversation. But I was going to figure it all out. One day at a time; it was all going to work itself out."

Still not a single change. I swallowed hard, staring at his unmoving face. "You have to get better," I said firmly. "You have to. Don't leave us like this. I can't do it alone. Please." I rested a hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat for myself. For some reason, that physical contact made me feel a little bit better about the situation. But it still wasn't enough.

Sighing, I slid my eyes shut. I was so tired. And I felt separated from the world. It was just surreal. For some reason, I had been convinced that I wouldn't have a problem with my decision. Now, I wasn't so sure. Maybe I would still have the strength to be a mom if I knew that somewhere he was living his life and happy, but I knew more clearly in that moment that there was no way I could do it if he was gone. "I can't raise your child in a world you aren't in."

*  *  *
 

I didn't realize that I fell asleep until Dr. Song was shaking me awake, her eyes sympathetic. I blinked to try and gain my bearings, stretching out muscles that had tightened from sitting in the chair for so long.

"I figured you wouldn't leave," she said. I didn't respond, but I glanced up at the clock and was surprised to see that it was already nearly two in the afternoon. That meant that I had managed to sleep for almost four hours. That was more than when I was at Taeyeon's apartment.

As though reminding me of what I had told him earlier, my stomach growled angrily. I was tempted to smile, but held it back because I didn't want to look crazy in front of the doctor.

She heard it. "I also figured that you hadn't eaten anything." She handed me something wrapped in foil and I took it. When I pulled back the tinfoil and saw that it was a sandwich, my stomach growled again.

"Thank you, Dr. Song," I said, pleasantly surprised. "That was very thoughtful of you."

She grinned, "I knew you wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, but you have to eat. Don't forget that Miss Jung."

I nodded in acknowledgement, already biting into the sandwich. We sat together in contemplative silence for a while. Dr. Song walked over to Taeyeon, looking at his monitors and his IV. I watched her as I finished the sandwich.

"Have you noticed any changes?" she said, her eyes on his heart monitor. I sighed, wishing for all the world that I could say that I had.

"No. Not a single thing."

Dr. Song moved to the other side of his bed, looking at the other monitor that was getting readings from the clamp on his finger. "It's probably going to stay that way for a while. But the swelling continues to drastically decline so we should see something soon."

I managed to pull a painful smile at her optimistic tone. It was nice to hear that he was making some progress, but at the same time I was still deathly afraid of what would happen if he woke up and remembered every last word I had said to him. "Dr. Song," I began hesitantly. She looked over at me, "Do you think he can hear when people talk to him?"

She looked down for a brief moment. Then, she walked back around the bed, picking up his chart. "Well, there have been cases in which a patient recovers and is able to repeat what loved ones said."

"Does that happen often?"

"To the best of my knowledge, I can't say that it does." She put his chart down and crossed her arms, making eye contact with me, "But to be honest I don't deal with coma patients often. It's not as common as a lot of people seem to think."

I wasn't sure if I should feel relieved or disappointed. On one hand, I was glad to have the truth out there; though it was stressful, part of me felt lighter. However, I had no idea how Taeyeon would react to the knowledge that I was still pregnant... I didn't know if he had been struggling with the abortion. But I knew him well enough to know that he probably had, albeit in complete silence.

The thought broke my heart. If he had been sitting alone, suffering over the decision he thought I made then I would feel like the scum of the earth. But that didn't change the fact that I was afraid of what would happen if he found out that I was still pregnant and fully intending on having the baby.

I was afraid that it would negatively impact him. Right now, all he had to focus on was himself. If he knew about the baby then of course he would want to be there for her or him. That wou