I don’t wait because I should have fucking been there from the moment I brought her in.
She’s propped up in the hospital bed with pillows at her back, her hair messy and wild, like she just walked out of a war zone. Her eyes meet mine, and the relief in them almost buckles my knees.
I cross the room in three strides, and kneel at her side, taking her hand in both of mine. “You scared the shit out of me when you passed out in my arms.”
“You think you didn’t scare me?” She presses my palm to her round little bump. “We’re okay.”
A doctor enters and I swear, the man is either very brave or very fucking stupid, because he doesn’t even flinch when I stand.
“Well,” I snap.
He nods. “Minor bruising, some stress-induced cramping, but the baby is strong. Heartbeat’s good. No lasting damage to mother or child. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation. Nothing serious, just caution.”
I don’t like it, but I need to be sure she is okay so we will lock down the hospital as much as possible. “Whatever she needs.”
Then he smiles at me. “Would you like to see the baby for yourself?”
I glance at Cressida, and she smiles with a nod. “Yes.”
Someone rolls in a machine, and they prep her. I move behind the doctor, hovering like a goddamn gargoyle, arms crossed and jaw clenched, unable to breath freely until I see.
And then . . . the monitor flickers to life and there they are.
The ultrasound drags shadows into shapes. A skull. A spine. A creature small enough to fit in my palm, but already defiant enough to kick against the walls of their mother’s body. Fingers flex before curling into tiny fists and a mouth yawns wide, like it wants to curse a world it hasn’t yet entered.
Then I hear a sound that hits me harder than any bullet ever could.
The steady thump-thump-thump of our baby’s heart, a beat that echoes in my chest like it’s wired to me.
I don’t see fragility.
I see a future sharpened into bone and blood.
I see a reason for me to fucking kneel.
So small and perfect.
My knees go weak and tears I’m unashamed of fall.
Not from pain.
Not from rage.
Not even from relief.
Just . . . love.
The kind that cuts through bone and marrow and rewires your entire existence.
“Would you like to know the gender?” the doctor asks.
Cressida looks at me, her eyes glistening. “Do you want to know?”
“Da,” I rasp through a dry throat.
The doctor moves the little wand thing around and then smiles at us. “Congratulations. It’s a girl.”
Everything fucking stops.
