“Cole? No wonder he’d stopped looking at me after Alex explained that. He must have spent hundreds on Gabbi.
Something in my chest twisted.
Alex’s voice softened. “You’re safe here, Morgan. Both of you. No expectations. No judgment. We have some rules that I’d just like to run through.” I nodded. I was good with rules. “There are other guests here, and a baby could potentially trigger someone or calm them—we won’t know which until we see how everyone reacts, so for safety reasons we need you to be mindful of that and keep yourself and Gabbi safe. That means keeping your door locked at night, letting staff know if you notice anyone getting agitated, if Gabbi is upset, and telling us immediately if anything feels off. You won’t be handling any situations alone—not here.”
“I don’t belong here, I don’t… I mean… you specifically help with post-trauma for veterans…” I glanced down at Gabbi, who was fast asleep again. Was I experiencing trauma? I just felt numb right now. Iced up inside.
“True, and we offer addiction support, counseling, job and education pathways, legal help, medical check-ins, and whatever else someone needs to start standing on their own again.”
“But not for me, I mean, I’m a veteran… but I’m okay… I’m… I dealt with it all.” I ended the sentence with so little confidence it barely felt like I believed a word of it. It sounded pathetic even to my own ears—as if I was trying to convince him of something I’d stopped believing a long time ago. A veteran. A survivor. Fine. Okay. I didn’t feel like any of those things. I was a fraud wearing the title of someone stronger, someone smarter, someone who hadn’t fucked up every major decision in his life. Someone who hadn’t shown up here with nothing but a baby he wasn’t sure he deserved to keep.
“We will never turn anyone away, but if you want us to find a more appropriate place for you and Gabbi, one more suitable for family in residence, then we’ll keep that option open.”
“I just want to…” get a place, get a job, childcare, be a good dad. Be thebestdad. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“Right now?” Alex said. “You breathe. You put Gabbi down for a rest, and you get some sleep. Everything else can wait. Lunch is in a few hours, but one of us will come and get you to help you down there, introduce you and Gabbi to some people.”
He stepped back toward the door but paused, giving me space to speak if I needed it.
I didn’t. I stood there, staring at the crib, feeling like the ground under me had shifted again—only this time, it wasn’t falling away. It was settling. Maybe. A little.
Even if I was a fraud.
A pretender in this place with veterans who had real issues, who’d seen worse than me, injured, lost, broken.
I lifted my chin.
“Okay.”
He stopped at the door. “One last thing, we have a counselor on staff, and I’ve asked her to come down and see you and Gabbi later today. Is that okay?”
A counselor. For what? I wasn’t the one who needed help—Gabbi did. I was fine. I was managing. I always managed. I didn’t need someone rummaging around in my head, telling me I was broken when all I needed was a safe place for my kid. Still… this place was giving Gabbi safety, and that mattered more than whatever pride I was clinging to. I’d say what I needed to say and find a way to get through this.
I nodded. “Sure.” He opened the door, and I stopped him. “Do you have a number for Cole? I want to thank him for all of this.”
Alex smiled. “I’ll see if he’s okay giving that out.” And then he left, shutting the door behind him, and I saw the room could be locked from the inside. I turned the latch and sank onto the bed, just as Gabbi blinked her eyes open, and I launched myself up to be the one reassuring thing she saw, scooped her up out of the crib, and rocked her. Was I doing this right? She wasn’t crying. She didn’t need a feed; it didn’t smell as if she needed her diaper changed. She was justawake…and staring at me.
“Hey, baby girl. It’s Daddy.” She blinked up at me, steady and calm, and I matched my breathing to hers without thinking. Then my voice dropped into that low, ridiculous register I didn’t use with anyone else. “You want to see something?”
I lifted her carefully, holding her so she could look out the window. The snowy garden stretched out from our ground-floor room, and right in the middle of it, someone had built a lopsided snowman—stone-button smile, twig arms, scarf trailing in the wind.
Gabbi made a soft, breathy “mmnh?” noise—half-question, half-complaint, and I’m sure it was the kind of sound babiesmade when they weren’t sure what they were looking at. It was probably one big white blur, given that it was snowing lightly.
“Yeah, that’s a snowman,” I murmured, like we were having a real conversation. “See him? Big guy. Cold. Much colder than you.” She kicked my arm, her version of excitement, maybe?
“I know,” I told her, pretending she’d said something important. “He does look like he needs fixing, huh? Maybe we’ll help him out later. Give him better arms. Or a proper smile. What do you think?”
She answered with another tiny “ahh—boh,” like she was trying out the sound of her own voice, and something unfamiliar and warm pushed through my ribs.
“Good talk,” I whispered against her hair. “You’re already the best company I’ve ever had.”
I bobbed around the room, stopped at the mobile and spun it, watching the four little felt animals sway in a slow circle—an elephant, a fox, a bear, and a penguin. “Look at them, Gabbi,” I told her. “That’s Ellie the Elephant. She’s the boss. Bit of a worrier, but she means well.” The elephant drifted past again, and she blinked, following it with surprising focus.
“And that guy—” I tapped the tiny felt fox, its stitched grin permanently smug. “That’s Finn. He’s trouble. Always stealing snacks from the others, always pretending he didn’t.” Another tiny noise left her, as if she approved.
The bear floated through next. “Bruno,” I said. “Big, soft, thinks he’s scary, but actually just likes naps and warm blankets. Kind of like someone I know.” I nudged her nose with mine, and she huffed a tiny breath that could’ve been a laugh.
Last was the penguin, wobbling as the string twisted. “And that’s Pip,” I whispered. “He’s small but fast, and he’s always the one who fixes things when everyone else messes up. Holds the whole group together.”
