Then she pushed.
A rush of movement. Shoulders rotating, body following—and suddenly there was weight in my hands. Warm. Slippery. Impossibly small.
Hope.
She screamed before I could even clear her airway. A thin, furious wail that filled the room, filled my chest, filled every empty space I hadn’t known was waiting.
“She’s here,” I heard myself say. “Grace, she’s here.”
My hands moved on autopilot. Bulb syringe to clear her nose and mouth. A clean towel to wipe her down. She was still screaming, her face scrunched and red, tiny fists waving at a world she’d just entered.
I wrapped her in the towel and placed her on Grace’s chest.
Grace’s arms came up immediately, cradling her, pulling her close. Her face crumpled, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Hi,” Grace whispered. “Hi, baby girl. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Hope’s crying stuttered, then softened. She turned toward Grace’s voice, seeking warmth, seeking the heartbeat she’d been listening to for eight months.
I sat on the edge of the bed. My legs wouldn’t hold me anymore.
“She’s perfect,” I said. The words came out broken. “Grace, she’s perfect.”
Doc’s voice came through the speaker. “Everything okay up there?”
“She’s here.” I had to clear my throat twice to get the words out. “She’s beautiful. Grace is okay. Everyone’s okay.”
“Good. You did good, Owen. Both of you. The ambulance should be there soon to transport you to the hospital for checks. But from what I’m hearing, that little girl has a healthy set of lungs.”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “Yeah, she does.”
“Get some skin-to-skin going. Keep them both warm. I’ll call the hospital and let them know you’re coming.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Anytime.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone for a second, then set it on the nightstand. Turned back to Grace. To Hope. To this impossible thing that had just happened in this bedroom.
Hope had stopped crying. She was making small sounds now, snuffling against Grace’s skin, her tiny fingers curling and uncurling.
I reached out. Touched her fist with one finger.
She grabbed on. Held tight.
“Hi, Hope,” I whispered. “I’m Owen.”
I swallowed. “I’m your dad.”
The word caught in my throat.Dad.I’d never said it out loud before. Never let myself think it—not really—not until this moment, when she was here and real and holding onto my finger.
“Yes, you are,” Grace said softly. “You have been from the beginning.”
I looked at her. Exhausted. Hair plastered to her face. Still crying.
The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
