"How long will she be here?" Chase asks.
"Typically, babies born at this gestation stay until their due date, so about eight weeks. But every baby is different, she'll tell us when she's ready to go home."
"Can I touch her?" Emma reaches for the isolette.
"Of course. Wash your hands first, then you can reach through the portholes. She'll respond to your touch and voice, that's important for her development."
Emma and Chase spend an hour at the isolette, touching Sofia through the portholes, talking to her, crying. Jackson and I stand back, giving them space, but I'm aware of every inch between us, of the way our arms occasionally brush, of how badly I want to reach for his hand.
We watch the monitors, watch the tiny chest rise and fall with the assistance of the CPAP, and watch the numbers stay stable. Jackson's shoulder is pressed against mine now, and neither of us moves away.
"I can do this," I say suddenly.
"What?"
"Nursing. I can do this again. I thought that after Lily, I'd never be able to work with kids again. But today, when Emma needed help, when her baby girl needed..." My voice cracks. "I didn't freeze, I didn't panic. I just did it."
"You did more than the job; you were incredible."
"I was a nurse, that's all. Just a nurse doing what nurses do." I wipe my eyes. "But it felt good, felt right. Like maybe I can do this after all."
Jackson pulls me into a hug, brief and careful, mindful of Emma and Chase nearby. But in those few seconds, I feel everything. His pride in me, his love, the way he's barely holding himself together after watching his sister go through this.
"You can do anything, Stardust," he whispers against my hair.
Eventually, Dr. Stone insists Emma needs rest. "You just gave birth; your body needs to recover. Your daughter is stable, you can come back in a few hours."
"I don't want to leave her."
"I know. But she needs you to be healthy. Get some rest, eat something. We'll let you know immediately if anything changes."
Reluctantly, Emma agrees. We head back downstairs to a recovery room where Emma will stay overnight for monitoring.
"Go home," Emma tells Jackson and me. "Check on Ethan, tell Mom, tell her everything's okay."
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Yeah. Chase is staying with me; you two should go. Get some sleep."
We leave the hospital just as the sun's setting. The parking lot is nearly empty, and my hands are shaking now that the adrenaline's fading.
"You okay?" Jackson asks.
"I don't know. I think so." I look back at the hospital. "She's so small, Jackson. So fragile."
"But she's a fighter."
"Yeah. She is."
We're heading to his truck when I spot the chapel sign. "Wait. Can you give me a minute?"
"Of course."
The chapel is small and empty, just a few rows of pews and an altar with generic religious symbols. I sit in the back and let myself fall apart.
I'm crying for Emma, for Sofia fighting for her life upstairs, for Lily, who didn't get to fight, for myself, and the months of thinking I'd never be strong enough to save anyone again.
The door opens, and Jackson slides into the pew beside me.
