The fact that the baby isn’t my blood? Means nothing. He’s mine. Because she’s mine. Because I choose them. And they choose me.
I exhale, slow and shaky. I’m not ready. I’m scared. I’m scared I’m going to fuck it up. I’m scared I’m going to let her down. But for the first time, I’m willing to try. And maybe that’s enough.
I sit for a moment longer, elbows on knees, head bowed, catching my breath, trying to gather my thoughts.
When I finally stand, I glance toward the nurses’ station at the far end of the corridor. There’s a man there.
Button-down shirt, pressed pants, hair combed to within an inch of its life. He’s talking to the nurses, but something about him feels familiar. Not in a friendly way. Like a name I forgot or a face I saw once in a place I shouldn’t have been.
He catches my eye and nods, polite, distant. I nod back, slowly. But the unease lingers. I’m clearly exhausted. Thinking I’m seeing things I’m not. Shaking my head, I rub my eyes and then turn and walk back toward Savannah’s room.
I pause at the doorway. It’s open, a small crack showing me the vision inside. I push the door a little more, and I step inside quietly, not wanting to disturb her.
She’s sitting in bed, cradling the baby against her chest.
He’s suckling, slow and steady, his tiny hand resting against her skin.
Her head is tilted down, watching him, eyes half-closed, one hand stroking his back in lazy circles and whispering sweet nothings to him.
She looks… Holy. Beautiful. I freeze, watching her in total awe.
There’s something about seeing her like this. Feeding her son, giving him more of her like she didn’t just give him life. Her body still trembling from everything it endured. It makes my chest ache.
I’ve never seen anything so powerful. So gentle. So damn breathtaking.
She looks up and sees me standing there like a stalker and her smile widens. Like she has enough love and life to give me, even though she gave all of what she had to the bundle of joy in her arms. I feel privileged.
“Hey.” Her voice is soft, medicine for my soul. Welcoming me to her space. I walk over to her and take a seat on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Even now, exhausted, no makeup, hair pulled back haphazardly, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“He’s hungry.” She gives me a tired smile.
“Smart kid,” I murmur, eyes locked on the tiny miracle in her arms.
I rest my hand on her thigh, grounding myself.
“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” I admit.
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
Her hand finds mine. And for a while, we sit there. The three of us. Quiet. Safe.
Home.
28
Savannah
It’s been a day, and my body is now fully aware I gave birth. Everything aches. My feet, my back, my body. But I feel nothing but joy. Okay, and tired.
Griffin has barely left my side. He slept here with me last night and showered here this morning. Apart from taking a few calls in the hallway and going to grab us coffee, he hasn’t left.
“So have you thought of a name yet?” the nurse asks as she takes my vitals and records it.
Griffin looks up at me, waiting.
“I have a few ideas.”
“I’m sure whatever you decide will be perfect. I think you’ll be able to go home tomorrow. One more night to recover, and then as long as you have someone at home to help you, then there should be no need to go into Whispers Hospital.”
