He watched me for a long time, then said, “You’re really good at this. Holding her, I mean.”
I shrugged, but the words burrowed in deep. “Not sure what I’m doing, but I don’t want to stop.”
The silence stretched, comfortable. I shifted her weight, and she squirmed, rooting for food. Carter was already sitting up, reaching for the swaddle. “Hand her over,” he said.
I hesitated, then gave her up, slow, making sure her head was cradled just right. Carter pulled up his shirt, latched her on to his nipple, and the whole room seemed to settle into a new kind of peace. We watched her feed. The only sounds were the snow against the window and the baby’s quiet, greedy slurping.
After a while, Carter looked up, eyes shiny but clear. “Never thought I’d get this,” he said, voice trembling at the edges. “Any of it.”
I didn’t know how to answer that. Not with words. So I just reached over and took his hand, squeezed once, hard. Hesqueezed back, and for the first time, I let myself feel all of it—the fear, the pride, the unholy fucking relief.
I cleared my throat, tried to make it a joke. “Next time, maybe we adopt.”
He laughed, then got serious again. “You think we’ll be good at this?”
I looked at the baby, then at him. “I think we already are.”
In the golden circle of the lamp, we were the only three people in the world. I felt my heart pounding so hard I thought the monitors would pick it up. It didn’t matter. I’d never asked for this life, never pictured it, but now that it was here, I would have burned the whole world to keep it safe.
I watched the baby’s tiny hand curl around Carter’s thumb, and made a promise, silent and absolute. No one would ever make her feel small, or invisible, or unloved. Not on my watch.
We sat there, holding hands, until the sun started to rise.
And for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
