They soaked into the blanket wrapped around her.
She was here.
She was mine.
She was breathing.
Whole.
Unbroken.
I pressed my lips gently to her forehead.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I whispered against her skin.
“I’ve got you.”
My voice cracked again.
“You’re safe.”
The nurses gave us space.
The golden hour.
That sacred first hour where mother and child bond without interruption.
She began rooting against my chest — tiny mouth searching.
Her small hand lifted blindly and suddenly wrapped around my finger.
Her grip surprised me.
Stronger than expected.
Instinct.
Survival.
Connection.
I laughed through tears.
“You’re already stubborn,” I murmured.
“Just like... someone.”
I didn’t say his name.
I didn’t need to.
In that moment, the world narrowed to just the two of us.
Her heartbeat.
Mine.
The soft sounds she made.
