Daphne bears down with a primal sound that’s half scream, half grunt.Her hand crushes mine, but I barely notice the pain, too focused on what’s happening.
“That’s it,” the doctor encourages.“The head is out.One more push for the shoulders.”
Daphne summons strength from somewhere deep inside, her entire body tensing with the effort.There’s a moment of resistance, then a sudden release, and a tiny, slippery body emerges into the doctor’s waiting hands.
The cry that follows is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.Indignant, powerful, alive.Our daughter announces her arrival to the world with unmistakable determination.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor confirms unnecessarily, lifting the squirming, vernix-covered infant.“Dad, would you like to cut the cord?”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s speaking to me.I step forward on shaky legs, accepting the surgical scissors with hands that suddenly don’t feel like they belong to a doctor.The umbilical cord is surprisingly tough, requiring actual pressure to sever.
And then she’s free, an independent being that’s no longer physically connected to Daphne.The nurse wraps her in a warm blanket before placing her in my arms.
Time seems to stop as I look down at her for the first time.Her face is scrunched and red, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness of the world.A shock of dark hair plasters her tiny head, still damp from birth.She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hello,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the simple word.“I’m your dad.”
Her cries soften at the sound of my voice, her little body settling against my chest as if she recognizes me somehow.I count fingers and toes automatically.Ten of each, impossibly small and perfect.
“Xavier,” Daphne calls softly from the bed.“Is she okay?”
I move closer so she can see.“She’s perfect.Absolutely perfect.”
Daphne reaches out a trembling hand to touch the baby’s cheek.“She looks like you,” she says with a tired smile.“Something about the eyes.”
“They’re still blue,” I point out.“All babies have blue eyes at birth.”
“Still,” Daphne insists.“She’s got your look.Thoughtful.Like she’s figuring things out.”
I can’t argue with her, partly because I’m too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts, and partly because I want so badly for this little one to have some connection to me, even if only in expression.
“Zach should see her,” I say after another moment of shared wonder.“Are you okay if I…”
Daphne nods, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.“Go.Show him his daughter.”
I carry our precious bundle into the waiting area, where Zach paces a worn path in the industrial carpet.He stops mid-stride when he sees me, his eyes immediately fixing on the blanket-wrapped form in my arms.
“Zach,” I say, my voice thick with emotion I can’t even begin to process.“Come meet our daughter.”
He approaches slowly, almost reverently, his usual confident stride replaced by something hesitant and awed.When he peers down at her face, the transformation in his expression steals my breath.All the hardness melts away, replaced by a tenderness I’ve only glimpsed in our most private moments.
“She’s so small,” he whispers, one calloused finger gently touching her cheek.
“Seven pounds, three ounces,” I report.“Twenty inches long.Perfect Apgar scores.”
He smiles at my automatic recitation of medical details.“Can I hold her?”
I transfer our daughter to his arms, showing him how to support her head.Zach, the feared enforcer of the Devil Souls, a man who’s broken bones and ended lives, cradles this tiny infant with more care than I’ve ever seen him show anything.
“Hello, little one,” he says softly, his voice dropping to a register I’ve never heard before, gentle, almost musical.“I’m your dad too.The scary-looking one.”
She squirms slightly, one tiny hand escaping the blanket to wave in the air.Zach offers his finger, and she grasps it with surprising strength, her entire hand barely encircling his fingertip.
“Strong,” he says with unmistakable pride.
His gaze meets mine and I can feel the air being sucked out of my lungs at the look in his eyes.
Shaylin approaches quietly, her usual composure restored.“She’s beautiful,” she says, peering at the baby’s face.“Does she have a name yet?”
