But that nurse walked in and I guess I wasn’t supposed to kiss her. I’ll take it as a sign.
But damn. I’ve spent so much time on edge, doing everything I could to keep her safe, watching her, checking on her, making sure she was okay as much as I could. I had one goal—get the baby here safe, then breathe. Then let her go on her way.
But now? She’s awake, she’s alive, and Emma’s okay. I should feel relieved, now that it’s all over, but I don’t. It feels heavier. The weight is sitting on my chest like a frickin’ truck.
Because somewhere in all the chaos of the last few days, I stopped thinking about myself. Pushed it all aside. And I didn’t even realize it until she looked at me like that.
And I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
Karissa shifts a little, her voice barely above a whisper. “Did you call your family? Tell them what happened?”
I nod. “Yeah. Told my mom when they were taking you back.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “Did you tell them I’m awake?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
She doesn’t say anything else, just nods, but the question hangs in the air. Truth is, I haven’t left this room long enough to call anyone. Wasn’t gonna miss a second, not after how scary it got.
When I called my mom…I was nervous, shaky. If I’m honest, it didn’t sound like me. I couldn’t even get the words out at first. I was pacing, staring at the floor, trying not to let my voice crack. But it did, just enough for her to know something wasreallywrong. Because I don’t get emotional like that.
She was worried too, told me to pray, and when I told her I did about twenty times already, she told me not to stop. So I didn’t.
I clear my throat and glance down at Emma. “Yeah, I’ll call Mom,” I mutter and step out into the hall.
* * *
Karissa’s asleep again. Just a light doze, and her breathing’s steady. Emma’s out cold too, swaddled up in that bassinet like nothing traumatic just happened to either of them.
A soft knock at the door breaks the quiet.
The door creaks open slowly and a woman steps in. She’s not in scrubs, just professional clothes that aren’t overly formal. She’s holding a tablet, tapping the screen as she walks in. I stand, crossing my arms over my chest, and my eyes go straight to her badge, instinctively cautious, my guard still up. It takes a second, but then I catch the title printed beneath her name. Lactation Consultant.
“Karissa?” she asks, her voice low.
Karissa blinks awake, groggy. “Yeah?”
“I’m Maggie, with the lactation team. I wanted to see if you’d like to try feeding Emma or if you were going to stick with formula.”
Karissa glances at Emma, then toward me. I nod once—just a small one—because it’s obviously her call.
Karissa nods. “Yeah, I wanna try to breastfeed.”
“Great.” Maggie picks up Emma, and by the time Karissa sits up, Maggie’s already guiding her through positioning and whatever else. I didn’t know it was such a complex process.
Once she starts talking about the latch, though, I know that’s my cue.
I clear my throat and start toward the door. “I’ll give you some space,” I say.
Karissa looks at me, a flicker of something in her eyes. “Okay,” she says softly.
Before I leave, I pause at the edge of the bed and reach down, my hand settling gently on her ankle over the blanket. I don’t squeeze, just rest it there.
“Is that okay?” I ask, low.
Not asking if I can leave…asking if she’s good, if she’s alright being in here without me.
She looks up at me, eyes a little glassy. “Yeah.” She nods.
