Page 158 of Keller

And then she's here.

Caroline Eleanor Stone. Seven pounds, four ounces. A full head of dark hair and lungs that announce her arrival to the entire floor.

They place her on my chest. She's warm and wet and impossibly small. Her fingers curl against my skin. I can barely see through the tears.

Keller stands beside the bed, his hand hovering near Caroline's back, trembling slightly. When he finally touches her, his whole body goes still.

"She's perfect." His voice cracks on the second word.

I watch him memorize her face, watch him fall completely, irreversibly in love.

A nurse approaches. "Dad, would you like to hold her while we help Mom with recovery?"

He looks at me first, waiting for my nod.

Then he lifts Caroline into his arms with a reverence I have never seen in him before. He cradles her against his chest, one broad palm spanning her entire back, and walks slowly toward the window where morning light streams in.

I close my eyes. Another nurse adjusts my pillow without being asked. A cup of water appears on my tray table. When I open my eyes, Keller is watching me.

"You need anything?"

"Just rest."

He nods and sits in the chair beside my bed with Caroline still cradled against him. He doesn't take his eyes off either of us.

The nurse returns with discharge instructions and feeding schedules. She notes my follow-up appointments that are listed on the last page. Keller listens to every word and asks questions I would not have thought to ask.

I drift in and out of sleep. Each time I wake, he's still there holding her. Still watching over us both.

Two DaysLater

The front door clicks shut behind us. Lamplight pools softly across the living room, casting long shadows over the couch and the bassinet I spent three weeks positioning in exactly the rightspot. Not too close to the window. Not too far from where I plan to sleep on the couch.

Keller carries the car seat with both hands, moving slowly across the hardwood. Caroline sleeps inside, her tiny fists curled against the blanket I tucked around her at the hospital. She has not stirred since we left the parking garage.

He sets the car seat down near the bassinet and kneels beside it. His fingers work the buckles with care, each click deliberate. When he lifts her free, she fits perfectly in the crook of his arm.

I watch him lower her into the bassinet. I melt as his hand lingers on her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. Then he straightens the blanket around her shoulders even though it does not need straightening.

The house is quiet. There are no machines beeping, no nurses checking vitals. Just the three of us and the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

We end up side by side, looking down at her. She's so small. So complete. Every finger. Every eyelash. Every soft curve of her cheek.

I don't know how long we stand there. It's long enough for the ache in my legs to register and my eyes to adjust fully to the dimness.

"You've been with us every day. Thank you for that."

He doesn't look away from Caroline. "I want to be here for y'all."

Every morning, he arrived before I finished my first cup of decaf, and every evening he stayed until they took Caroline to the nursery. He's changed diapers without being asked. He checked in with nurses multiple times when I needed something. And held Caroline for hours so I could eat or close my eyes for twenty minutes without worrying.

He keeps showing up. Again and again. Without asking for anything in return.

I turn to face him. The lamplight catches the edge of his glasses, the line of his jaw, the careful set of his shoulders.

"Your offer." My voice comes out quieter than I intended. "To try again."

He meets my eyes but doesn't say a word.