“And I’ll get it. Right here.” Tara’s voice was gentle but firm. “You’re not doing this alone. Not tonight, not ever.”
A parade of goodbyes followed—kisses pressed to tiny fingers, promises to return first thing in the morning. One by one, they filed out until only her mom remained.
Christina settled Violet in the bassinet beside her bed—clear plastic sides, so she could see her daughter even with her eyes half-closed—and sank back against the pillows.
Tomorrow there would be discharge paperwork and car seats and the terrifying reality of taking a newborn home. Tomorrow she would have to figure out feeding schedules and diaper changes and how to function on no sleep. The lactation consultant was due any minute, and there were forms to sign, questions to answer.
But for now, Violet was sleeping three feet away. Her mother was here. And that was going to have to be enough.
Tara was already pulling the chair into its bed position, arranging a thin hospital blanket over herself.
“Mom?”
“Mm?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Tara reached over and squeezed her hand. “Get some rest. The consultant will be here soon, and then you need to sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
Christina closed her eyes, listening to Violet’s tiny breaths, to the distant beeping of monitors in the hallway, to her mother settling into the makeshift bed.
Tomorrow. She’d worry about tomorrow when it came.
CHAPTER 17
CHRISTINA
The wail started at 2:17 AM. Christina knew because she’d been staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds between Violet’s last feeding and the next inevitable cry.
She pushed herself up from the pillow, every muscle protesting. Three days since they’d come home from the hospital, and sleep had become something that happened in fragments—twenty minutes here, an hour there—never enough to feel human.
“I’m coming, sweet girl.”
Violet’s bassinet sat beside Christina’s bed, a gift from Evan and Emily. Christina lifted her daughter, the weight still startling—seven pounds and change, but somehow heavier than anything she’d ever carried.
“Shh, shh.” She settled into the rocking chair Tara had moved from the attic, the one that had belonged to Aunt Frida. The wood creaked with each motion, a rhythm that had probably soothed generations of babies.
Violet’s face scrunched, her tiny fists waving as Christina fumbled with her nursing tank. The baby latched on with surprising strength, and for a moment there was only this—the soft pull, the quiet snuffling sounds, the moonlight through gauze curtains painting silver stripes across the floor.
Christina’s eyes burned. From exhaustion. And from a love so overwhelming it made her chest tight. From the ache that lived beneath her ribs, the one that flared every time Violet opened her eyes, and Christina saw that distinctive shade of blue-gray the nurse had promised would change over the coming months.
Would they turn green? She wondered for the hundredth time. Green with gold flecks, like?—
She cut off the thought. Marco didn’t belong in this room, in these midnight moments. He didn’t even know this room existed.
Violet finished nursing and Christina lifted her to her shoulder, patting her back until a satisfying burp emerged. “Good girl,” she murmured, pressing her lips to the impossibly soft skin of her daughter’s head. She smelled of the lavender baby wash Emily had recommended, like warmth and milk and newness.
By the time Violet fell back asleep, it was nearly four AM.
The sun was fully up when Ryan knocked on the cottage door.
“I’m taking Angus for a walk,” he said when Christina opened the door, still in her pajamas, Violet fussing against her shoulder. “You should sleep.”
“I’m fine?—”
“You’re not.” Ryan’s voice was matter-of-fact, the same tone he used when explaining why a particular coding solution was inefficient. “Your eyes are puffy, you’re swaying, and you’ve got spit-up on your shoulder. I’ll be back in about an hour to watch baby Violet so you can take a shower and a nap, or a nap and then a shower, whatever you want.”
Before she could argue, he’d clipped Angus’s leash to his collar and disappeared down the path toward the lake, the dog’s tail wagging with relief.
