I blink, and tears spill down the sides of my face before I can stop them.
He shifts forward, wrapping his arm around my head and bringing his body to mine, not putting his weight on me but hugging me as best as he possibly can. He doesn’t say anything, like no words are needed.
The door opens then, and a nurse steps in quickly. She glances at the monitor, then at me.
“There you are,” she says with a gentle smile. “We saw your heart rate pick up, figured you might be waking up.”
Cody clears his throat and steps back to let them do their thing. The questions start coming out of my mouth. “How long was I out? What happened?”
Another nurse checks my IV and glances at something on her tablet. “You had some heavy bleeding after delivery, more than expected. We gave you a transfusion and let your body rest. You’ve been out a little over nine hours.”
Nine hourshits me like a wave. I look at Emma, sleeping all alone, wrapped in her little blanket.
“I missed so much,” I whisper.
The nurse places a reassuring hand on my arm. “Could’ve been worse.”
My eyes find Cody’s again. He tucks his lips and nods. Something in his face is different, softer. I’m not sure what to call it.
I know it could’ve been worse, but that doesn’t mean I’m not upset. So I just nod, because I’m too choked up to speak.
The nurse checks my vitals. I barely register the movements. I’m too busy watching Cody carefully scoop up our— Notour…mybaby like it’s second nature.
“She looks good,” the nurse says after a moment. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. They’ll come check your incision and talk more about recovery.”
I nod slowly, still trying to piece everything together. My body feels like it belongs to someone else.
The nurse glances at Cody coming over with Emma swallowed in his arms. “I’ll give you guys space.” She looks back to me and smiles. “She’s been in good hands.”
With that, she slips out of the room, leaving the three of us in the quiet.
“Wanna hold her?” he asks, voice soft and low. Before I even respond, he’s passing her to me and I take her into my arms. My stomach stings with pain when I shift, but I’m quickly distracted by my daughter. She’s warm and so tiny. I almost don’t feel like I should be holding her; she seems too fragile.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s great,” he says.
I stare at her, taking in her features for the first time. She’s got dark brown hair, a little button nose, and thin pink lips.
“What color are her eyes?” I look to Cody.
“Brown.”
I nod and look back down at her. Tears well in my eyes. I shouldn’t have to ask someone what color my baby’s eyes are. Just that idea alone makes my heart feel heavier.
I didn’t even realize he could see me crying until he gently brushes a thumb under my eye.
I glance at him. His eyes are red around the edges. Pressure builds in my ears and tears drip down onto her blanket, but I run my fingertip down her cheek, barely brushing her skin. She flinches a little, scrunching her nose, but then nuzzles against my arm, her lips moving as if she’s chewing the inside of them.
Then I feel his steady, warm hand gently smooth my hair back from my face. The motion is slow, tender, like he’s afraid or hesitant to touch me.
“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice is rough, almost cracking.
“Sorry,” I manage.
He shifts his weight. “Don’t apologize.”
I study his face. “Well then…thank you.”
