But not today. Today, she was just going to hold her daughter and let herself be happy.
“My turn.” Emily had handed Grace to Evan and was making grabby hands toward Ryan. “Come on, I need to smell her head. It’s a thing. New baby smell is like a drug.”
Ryan relinquished Violet with obvious reluctance, and Emily cradled her with practiced ease. She bent her face close to Violet’s head and inhaled deeply.
“Oh, that’s the good stuff,” she murmured. “Grace is already losing hers. They should bottle this.”
“That’s weird,” Evan said, bouncing Grace on his hip.
“You did it too. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
Christina laughed, the sound rusty in her throat. When had she last laughed? Yesterday morning, maybe, before the cramping started. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Movement in the corner caught her eye. Sam had slipped in at some point—Christina hadn’t even noticed—and was curled up in the chair by the window, a sketchbook open on her knees. Her pencil moved in quick, sure strokes.
“Sam? What are you drawing?”
The teenager looked up, cheeks flushing pink. “Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt. I just—the light in here is really beautiful right now, and you looked so...” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “I can stop.”
“No, it’s fine. May I see?”
Sam hesitated, then crossed to the bed and held out the sketchbook.
It was her—hair tangled, face exhausted, hospital gown rumpled—but Sam had captured something Christina hadn’t known was visible. The way she’d been looking at Violet. The sketch was rough, unfinished, but it was somehow more honest than any photograph could have been.
“This is incredible,” Christina said. “Sam, this is really incredible.”
“I want to do a painting,” Sam said, the words rushing out. “A real one, like the one I did for the nursery. If that’s okay. For you to keep.”
Christina looked at the sketch again—at herself, at the tiny bundle in her arms, at the raw love Sam had somehow translated into pencil strokes on paper.
“I would love that.”
Ally appeared with a cup of ice chips, pressing them into Christina’s hand. “Drink. The nurse said you need to stay hydrated.”
Christina let an ice chip melt on her tongue, cool and soothing. The exhaustion was catching up with her. Her eyelids kept drooping, her body desperate for sleep after the marathon of the past twenty-four hours. But every time she closed her eyes, she forced them open again. She didn’t want to miss anything.
“Hey.” Ally perched on the edge of the bed, voice low. “Rest. We’ll wake you up if anything happens.”
“I can’t. What if she needs me?”
“Then we’ll wake you up.” Ally squeezed her hand. “You just did the hardest thing a human body can do, sis. You’re allowed to sleep.”
“Just a few minutes,” she finally said. “Promise you’ll wake me?”
“Promise.”
Christina let her eyes close. The sounds of the room washed over her—Tara’s soft voice, Emily and Evan debating something about sleep schedules, Ryan asking Sam about the sketch, something about making a frame for the painting, Will’s low voice somewhere near the door. The smell of flowers and lavender and that sweet, indescribable newborn scent.
Seven pounds, four ounces.
She was asleep before she could finish the thought.
When Christina woke, the light in the room had shifted. Late afternoon, maybe—golden and warm through the window blinds. Someone had dimmed the overhead lights. The flowers seemed to have multiplied.
Violet was crying.
Christina was sitting up before she was fully conscious, arms already reaching. “Give her to me.”
