Without a word, he dropped his chin to his chest. He knew that the blow he had struck her, this whole situation, had cut deep. The damage would take a very long time to heal. But he had to have her forgiveness, because without her he would never get through this.
"Kate, please. I don't know what we'll do," he said. "But please don't leave me. I need you."
Dr. Chen appeared from around the corner. "Mr. Jones?" he said. He looked at Kate and gestured politely for her to sit down. Then he led Peter away, around the bend in the corridor. They sat down.
"Mr. Jones, we need for you to name your daughter."
No name. Their baby girl had no name. This thought seemed to be the final blow to drain him of his last ounce of energy. It was real, and final. His life was changed now and forever. Somehow the knapsack fell from his hands, its contents spilling onto the floor. Kate. He had to ask her.
"Wait," he said to the doctor. He jumped to his feet and ran around the corner, calling out her name. But she was gone.
His shoulders slackened and he went back to the doctor, who was collecting the contents that had spilled out of the knapsack. Peter bent down to take over. He was overcome by a wave of dizziness and the nausea. Then, just as abruptly, the spinning halted and the sickness retreated, forced back by a keening sound that arose in his throat.
There, among the clutter of notes and pens and the little black box with its exposed circuits and wires, he found, written in her mother's own hand across the label of the topmost disk, their baby's name.
"Isle," he whispered.
"Mr. Jones?" the doctor said, not sure he had heard correctly.