“Tori, baby, I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t make it home in time. I tried. I tried so hard to get back to you.” My confession spills out of me.
She cups my face and shushes me softly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay. You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”
The strength and resilience of this woman never cease to amaze me, and I am so lucky I get to call her mine.
“There’s somebody you need to meet.” She takes my hand, leading me towards the couch. It’s then I notice that everyone else has left the room, likely giving us the space to have a moment together, and I’m grateful they have.
I recognize the pink gingham bassinette we chose together, and as I approach it, my palms grow sweaty, and a thick lump rises in my throat in anticipation of laying eyes on my daughter for the first time.
I peer over the edge of the bassinette, and there she lies, looking like a real life angel. Dressed in white, tucked under a pink blanket, is my daughter, and something in my chest explodes.
Tori leans down to pick her up and holds her out to me.
“Noah, meet your daughter.”
When I cradle her in my arms, she wiggles to get comfortable and makes a soft whimper. She steals not only my breath but my heart, and I know I’d die for this little girl. I’d protect her so fiercely and love her endlessly. Everything I did to get back here was worth it, and I’d do it all over again to experience this very moment.
I stare at her in awe. Her little button nose like Tori’s, dark lashes, and a thick mop of dark hair on her head. She is perfect, and I can’t believe she’s mine.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “Have you named her?”
Tori shakes her head, “I wanted to wait until you got home, so she’s just been baby girl Jones.”
I smile down at her, a little choked that Tori has already given her the surname Jones. It’s not something we had really discussed, but something I had hoped for. I want both my girls to have my name.
“I do have a name in mind though.”
I look up at Tori as tears fill her eyes. “Oh yeah?”
“Faith.” The name sounds poetic, and oh so perfect for our angel. Because throughout this whole experience, and truthfully, my life, having faith that everything was going to work out in the end was the only thing that kept me alive. I smile down at our daughter, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, inhaling her scent, and wanting to bottle it up.
“Hello, Faith, I’m your daddy.”
I stroke the back of her tiny hand with my index finger, her skin so soft and delicate under my touch. She squirms, flexing her little hand, and when her tiny fingers wrap around my finger, I’m gone. I let the emotions flow and hot tears roll down my cheeks. I press a kiss to the tip of her button nose and whisper, “Thank you for saving me.”
Chapter Seventy
Tori
I turn on my side, the morning sunlight warming my cheeks as my eyes flutter open. A peace I haven’t felt in a long time lingers in the air, and I feel like I can breathe, truly breathe. I stretch my arms and sit up, noticing it’s almost noon on my alarm clock, and panic sets in as I peek into the bassinet and see it empty, but when my eyes drift to the boots by the door, I remember that Noah is here, and my shoulders sag in relief.
I get out of bed slowly, mindful that I am only a few days postpartum, and head for the bathroom. When the paramedics arrived, I was shocked to learn I didn’t need stitches. Faith was a tiny 5lbs 4oz, but perfectly healthy.
I freshen up and glance in the mirror at my milk-stained tank top, my swollen breasts, which are screaming at me for a release, the dark circles under my eyes, and my limp hair that is indesperate need of a wash, but there is also something staring back at me that has been missing for a long time. A smile.
I exit the bathroom and go in search of Noah and our daughter, concerned that Faith will be due a feed. Last night I expressed for the first time, and Noah gave her a bottle that she happily gulped down before her longest stretch of sleep. She slept so contentedly beside our bed, but Noah didn’t take his eyes off her. He stared at her until I begged him to get some rest. I can’t imagine the hell he has been through, and I know, when he’s ready, he will open up to me, but for now, he just wants to live in this blissful newborn bubble together.
Noah’s gentle voice floats through the space, and I slow my movements, and when my eyes lock on the view, my heart flutters.
Faith is strapped to his bare chest in the carrier as he sits on the floor in grey sweatpants, the baseball cap that says ‘in my girl dad era’ worn backwards on his head, building her crib. I see her little eyes open as he’s talking to her like she’s hanging on every word he says, and a mixture of emotions zap through my body watching them bond.
“Uncle Harry said I couldn’t build this by myself, but we’ll show him.” I chuckle behind my hand.
“I think Mummy is spying on us, Faith,” Noah says, his tone playful.
“How did you know? I thought I was hiding well.” I tease as I approach.
“I’m trained to notice, darlin’.” He winks, and it sends tingles through my body.
