“Can you… hold her?”
Like she’s handing me something sacred.
“Of course.”
She lifts Emmy carefully into my arms.
The world narrows to the warm weight of my daughter sleeping against my chest.
She fits there perfectly.
Like she was meant to.
Laney watches me quietly.
“You’re good at that too,” she says.
“I’ve been practicing in my head since the first time I saw her.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
She doesn’t cry.
She just rests her hand gently on my arm.
We sit like that for a long time.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Eventually I settle Emmy back into the bassinet.
Laney lies down again.
This time she moves closer.
Her head rests against my shoulder.
My arm goes around her without thinking.
It feels right.
Old.
New.
Familiar.
“Saint?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“This is nice.”
I press my lips into her hair.
“Yeah.”
