She's in the rocking chair by the fireplace, the one we bought two years ago when we found out she was pregnant. Our daughter is cradled in her arms, tiny fist curled against Jade's chest, eyes fighting to stay open.
Emmeline. Emmy for short. Seven months old and already the center of my entire world.
Jade hasn't noticed me yet. She's too focused on Emmy, rocking slowly, singing that same song she's sung every night since our daughter was born:
*"Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky..."*
Emmy's eyes are drooping now, her little body relaxing completely in her mother's arms. She's wearing the blue onesie with bears on it, the one Jade bought the day we found out we were having a girl.
God, they're beautiful. Both of them. The most beautiful women in the world, right here in my living room. I still don't know what I did to deserve this. This life. This family. These moments of peace that I never thought I'd have.
Three years ago, I was alone. Convinced that's how it had to be. Convinced that isolation was the only way to keep from hurting people.
And then Jade showed up with her terrible lasagna and her endless questions and her complete inability to take no for an answer.
She cracked me open. Made me want things I'd given up on. Made me believe I could be more than just the broken pieces of who I used to be.
We got married a year after she moved in. Small ceremony, just us and a handful of people from town. Frank was there. Casey. Murphy. Ridge, of course, who wore a bow tie Jade insisted on and looked absolutely miserable about it.
It was perfect.
Jade kept working as a waitress for a while after that, splitting her time between the cabin and the house in town that we eventually sold. But when Emmy came, she decided to take time off. Said she wanted to be here for these early years, wanted to watch our daughter grow without missing a moment.
I supported it. Whatever she wanted. Whatever made her happy. Because her happiness is mine now. Tied together in a way I never expected.
Emmy's eyes finally close completely, her breathing evening out into sleep. Jade keeps rocking for another minute, just to make sure, then stands.
That's when she sees me.
She smiles and whispers, "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," I whisper back.
"Creep."
"She asleep?"
"Finally. She fought it hard today."
I move closer, looking down at our daughter. She's so small still. So fragile. Dark hair like mine, but Jade's nose and mouth. Perfect.
"You want to put her down?" Jade asks.
I nod and take Emmy from her arms. She barely stirs, just makes a soft sound and settles against my chest. I carry her tothe nursery, the room that used to be storage until we cleared it out and painted it soft yellow. Jade wanted yellow. Said it was cheerful without being too much.
I lower Emmy into her crib, making sure she's on her back, making sure the monitor is on. Old habits from all the safety briefings Jade made me sit through.
She doesn't wake. Just curls onto her side, her little fist near her face. I stand there for a moment, just watching her breathe. Still can't quite believe she's real. That she's mine. Ours.
When I come back out, Jade's in the kitchen, putting on water for tea.
"She go down okay?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"Good. Maybe we'll get a full night's sleep tonight."
"Maybe."
