“No, no, no, no…” I staggered closer, heat burning my eyes. My voice broke. “Stormi, open your eyes! You ain’t allowed to leave me. You ain’t allowed to leave our son. You hear me? He needs his mama. I need my wife. Don’t make me raise him in this fucked up world without you.”
The monitor flickered. A hiccup. A blip.
“Again!” I shouted. “Do it again!”
They shocked her. And this time, the faintest rhythm stuttered across the screen.
“Come on, baby,” I whispered, my fists trembling, rage giving way too much desperation. “Come back to me. Breathe. Please…”
The beep found its rhythm again. Weak, but there. And I dropped my head, swallowing a sob so heavy it split me open inside.
I lifted my gaze, eyes blazing at the team. “She lives. You keep her here. If she goes under again, you bring her back. I don’t care what it takes. You don’t stop until she’s back in my arms.”
And then I turned my eyes back to Stormi. “You hear that, baby? I ain’t letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
I stood at the glass, my hands braced against it, staring at the tiniest piece of me I’d ever seen. My son. My Shiloh. He was fighting already, chest rising and falling steady under that too bright light, wrapped tight like he knew the world wasn’t safe unless I was right here.
I stepped inside, slow, careful, but my voice came out steady and low. “What’s up, little man.” My throat thickened. “It’s your pops. First time I seen you, I swear my heart ain’t even know what to do. You got her lips, that same little pout Stormi used to give me when she was mad. And I’m tellin’ you now, you got a whole army waiting to ride for you.”
I pulled up a chair beside the crib, leaned close enough for him to hear me. “You don’t know it yet, but you saved me, Shiloh. You saved us both. Your mama’s fightin’ right now, and I swear she’s gon’ pull through, cause she ain’t never backed down from nothin’. And I’ma be right here, making sure this world don’t lay a finger on you.”
I sat there, just breathing with him until I heard the door creak open.
“Can I… can I come in?”
Jo’s voice.
I didn’t look back at first. My jaw tightened, my chest was heavy. Out of all the people I expected, she was the last. But I nodded. “Yeah. Come on.”
She came in quiet, like the weight of every mistake was sitting on her shoulders. Her eyes went straight to the crib. I could see her fighting tears, biting her lip.
“He looks just like her,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” My voice was rough. “He does.”
We sat in silence for a beat before I turned, locking eyes with her. “Listen. I’m gon’ be straight with you. Stormi needs you. Not the version of you she been gettin’ all these years but the mother you were supposed to be from the jump. She gon’ wake up, and when she does, she’s gonna need her mama. The real one. The strong one. Not the one that let the drugs take over.”
Jo didn’t flinch as tears slid down her face. “I know, Seth… I know I failed her.”
I leaned forward, my voice hard but not cruel. “Then don’t fail her again. Don’t let this push you back into old habits. You can’t fuck up your recovery right now. Not when she’s laid up fighting for her life. You hear me?”
She nodded fast, her hands trembling. “I hear you.”
I softened, just enough. “Jo, she never stopped loving you. Deep down, she’s been waiting her whole life for you to show up for her the way she deserved. Don’t waste this chance. ‘Cause when Stormi opens her eyes, she’s gon’ need the mama who’s ready to be her anchor. You got a grandson now, who’s going to need his grandmother too.”
For the first time since she walked in, Jo looked me in the eyes without shame. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
I turned back to Shiloh, placing my hand gently on his back. “Good. ‘Cause I already told my son he got an army. And I’m expectin’ you to be part of it.”
Jo sniffled, wiping her eyes. “He will. I will.”
And for the first time in a long time, I believed her.
The NICU nurse gave me the okay. Shiloh was cleared to be wheeled down. He was bundled so small it didn’t seem real. I pushed the bassinet slow, steady, every step heavy with a prayer I wasn’t used to saying out loud.
Stormi’s room was quiet, too quiet. Machines hummed, monitors beeped, but my wife, my fighter, still hadn’t opened her eyes. I parked Shiloh beside her bed, then pulled a chair close.
“Stormi…” My voice cracked. “I brought him. Our boy. Shiloh.”
