“I think Martha and I have this,” I add softly.
Eden doesn’t argue. Her eyes are already fluttering closed as exhaustion finally claims her. I kiss her forehead one more time, then carefully step away.
We slip out of the room quietly, closing the door behind us.
And as I stand there, listening to my daughter breathe and knowing Eden is finally resting, I make a silent vow.
Whatever she needs to say next . . .
Whatever comes after this . . .
I’ll deal with it.
“She’s so tiny,” Martha whispers as she hands my baby girl back to me.
I exhale slowly, carefully moving the blanket she’s swaddled in away from her delicate face. She looks so peaceful.
“So, you and Edes,” Martha continues, taking a seat on the couch.
I lower into the armchair opposite. “If you want a love story, you won’t find it here. I think Eden is gonna end it.” I sigh. “Not that it ever started. Not really.”
Martha frowns. “You spent the weekend together?” I nod. “And now, you think she’s gonna walk away?” I nod again. “Why?”
“Because she was heading here to tell me something important when she went into labour. And honestly, when I think about it, I want to be mad. She could’ve given birth on the side of that dirt track with no one around, in a fucking storm.” I shake my head. “What could’ve been so important that she risked walking here?”
Martha’s silent for a long minute, then she says, “Maybe she just wanted you to know how much she loves you.”
EDEN
I wake with a start.
Soft cries pull at my heart before my eyes even open. I push myself upright, wincing as my body protests, every muscle heavy, aching, spent.
Kade appears in the doorway, our squawking bundle cradled carefully against his chest. The sight of them together makes my throat tighten.
“I tried to wait as long as I could,” he says apologetically as he crosses the room. “But she’s getting pretty impatient now.”
I smile as he hands her over, instinctively settling her against me. I lift my top and position her just like the midwife showed me, murmuring softly until she latches on.
Kade leans in, watching with intense focus.
“Can she breathe?” he asks, his brow creased with concern.
I smile despite myself. “Yes, Kade, she can breathe.”
He nods, shoulders easing as relief washes over him, and something warm blooms in my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving these moments when his protectiveness slips out without him even realising. He’s going to be an incredible dad. I know it in my bones.
We sit quietly for a few minutes, the only sound of our daughter’s soft, eager gulps.
Then, Kade straightens slightly.
“I just wanted to say . . . I’m so proud of you,” he says quietly. “I always knew you’d be an amazing mother, but last night . . . fuck, Eden. The way you handled all of that. No drugs. No real help. I honestly thought you were going to explode at one point.” A small, awed laugh escapes him. “You bossed it, Queenie.”
I shake my head, tracing a finger gently over our daughter’s cheek. “I didn’t do it on my own.”
He looks at me, surprised.
“You kept me calm,” I continue. “You kept me focused. You were amazing, Kade. My rock.”
