Witley fits perfectly in my arms.
Greyson places her there carefully, his hands hovering even after he lets go. His eyes sparkle even though he has dark circles under them. Her fingers curl around my thumb, impossibly small but tight.
The first thing that hits me when Greyson places her in my arms is how something so light can carry so much gravity. Meaning. How a baby makes a family. Even if it’s a single mom, like Noelle.
“She’s got a grip,” he says, proud as a peacock.
“She knows what she wants,” Sutton adds from the couch, exhaustion and pride tangling in her voice.
Witley, cute as a bug in the ruffled pink sleeper I bought her, gets passed around next—Mr. O’Ryan, Parker, Paulina—each of them tracing her tiny fingers, murmuring soft nonsense like it’s instinct. When Noelle holds her, she stills completely, her thumb brushing over Witley’s knuckles with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
Noelle holds her through dinner like a pro, and afterward, Greyson lays her down in the bassinet.
“She’ll sleep two to three hours,” Greyson says. “Let’s eat and maybe get a ping-pong game in before she proves us wrong. I need to feel like a human.”
Paulina shoots her hand into the air. “I play first—because if Witley wakes up, I want to feed her.”
Sutton laughs. “I’m breastfeeding for a few months, but you’ll get your chance soon.”
Paulina groans. “Tragic.”
Teenagers think not feeding a baby is tragic. Typical.
She points toward the basement. “Uncle J.D., first game.”
“Prepare to lose,” J.D. says, fist-bumping Paulina.
Birdie stretches out beside Sutton on the couch, content to watch instead of competing. The house fills with movement—laughter, plates clinking, footsteps heading downstairs.
Normal for the O’Ryan household.
My chest feels tight as I hope I can make things right with Noelle. So when a text comes from my sister, it offers the distraction I need.
Sis: How did the second time go?
Me: Fine. Can I call you later?
Sis: Sure, but don’t forget. I hate that I’m not with you.
Me: I’m an adult.
Sis: I know, but no one loves you like I do.
Our mom may beg to differ.
At that exact moment, I spot Noelle, hands wrapped around a glass of something she hasn’t touched. She looks scared and full of doubt. She’s rarely like that, especially when she’s with her family.
I don’t think. I just move.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Can we take a walk?”
The room pauses. Greyson looks up. Sutton tracks the shift instantly. Noelle meets my eyes, then nods.
Outside, the night air is cool and quiet, the sounds of the house muffled behind us. We walk down the driveway, gravel crunching under our feet.
“Did you talk to Brooks?” I ask.
She exhales. “Yeah.”
