Page 68

“You cut the cord without flinching.”
“I flinched on the inside.”
I laughed softly and watched as he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. For all his worry, he hadn’t left my side. Not once. Not when labor started, not when the contractions hit their worst, and not when she finally arrived, red-faced and wailing, her little fists swinging in the air. He had stayed, eyes locked on me, jaw tight, one hand gripping mine like a lifeline. And when the doctor handed her to me, his face broke open in a way I had never seen before.
“You cried,” I said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I had something in my eye.”
“You had a full breakdown in your eye, then.”
He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell your aunts. Julia will write a song about it.”
I smiled, remembering the look on their faces when we called them with the news. Julia had immediately burst into tears and demanded photos. Claire had sworn she was driving up with lasagna whether we wanted it or not. Dad had arrived withballoons and flowers and a copy ofWhat to Expect in the First Yearlike we hadn’t already read everything we could find.
He had also cried, quietly and without fanfare, while holding her for the first time. He didn’t say much, but I saw the way his fingers shook, the way he whispered her name like a prayer.
We hadn’t settled on it until we saw her. We’d had a short list—three names we both liked—but nothing felt right until she opened her eyes and stared up at us like she was already sizing up the world.
Lena Grace Blackwell.
It suited her. Strong, soft, timeless.
Xander reached for the small card the nurse had left and flipped it over in his hands. Her name was printed in neat handwriting, along with her weight and the time of birth. He read it again and again like it would change if he stopped paying attention.
“She’s going to grow up here,” he said. “In this world. With us.”
I reached out and took his hand again. “That’s the plan.”
“I want her to have everything we didn’t.”
“She will.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He looked at me again, and the emotion behind his eyes made my chest tighten. “I want her to know she’s safe. That she’s loved. That we’re not going anywhere.”
“She’ll know,” I said. “Because you’ll show her. The same way you’ve shown me.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead, then rested his against mine. We sat like that, tangled up in the silence, listening to the steady breath of our newborn daughter. There were no big declarations, no grand promises. Just the quiet certainty that we were in this now—for real, for good.
A soft knock came at the door, and a nurse peeked in with a clipboard in hand.
“Ready for discharge in the morning?” she asked.
Xander nodded. “We’re ready.”
The nurse smiled and stepped back out. The door clicked shut, and I looked over at the duffel bag in the corner. It was already packed. Clothes for me, a tiny going-home outfit for Lena, a pink blanket with her name embroidered on the corner. It was all waiting.
We were going home.
Home to a life I hadn’t imagined a year ago. Home with a husband who had once sworn off love, and a baby who made every sharp edge in both of us a little softer. I had no illusions about what the next few months would bring. Sleepless nights, messy mornings, uncertain steps—but also joy. Laughter. The kind of moments we’d never be able to plan for.
I had everything I needed.
A family.
A future.
Love that stayed.