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I reach for his hand, and he comes closer, sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand over my swollen stomach. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He rubs his hand back and forth over my belly. “None of that is your fault. And despite his efforts, I got the girl in the end.”
I stare at the diamond ring on my hand. “You did.” Everything is falling into place for us, but I wonder why today, of all days, he would bring up Theo again.
I squeeze his hand. “What’s wrong?”
The sadness returns. “I don’t ever want to be like him.”
“You’re not. You’re nothing like Theo.”
He nods, his eyes on our hands joined over my belly. “What if it’s a boy?”
“Is that what you’re scared of? Because Theo only hit you boys, that if this is a boy, you might hurt him?”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that’s it. I’ve begged Ender to go to therapy, and while Arya has a degree in psychology and tries like hell to get him to open up, he refuses to. He’s tried so hard to bottle it in and keep every bad memory locked down.
But that fear runs deep that someday he might snap and turn out like Theo.
“Ender,” I whisper, letting go of his hand and touching my palm to his cheek. His eyes find mine and the worry is so deep I fear I’m never going to convince him otherwise. I hate Theo so much in this moment it’s hard to get out what I want to say to my husband, but I know I need to. “You’d never lay a hand on our children. I know that. And you should too. Even if this little rib kicker is a boy, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a good dad, and husband.”
He nods, but the distance in his eyes tells me he’s not sure he believes me.
“I’ve never seen you lose your temper with Eddie,” I point out.
“Oh, I have.” He chuckles.
I laugh, remembering the time she threw a fit in Target over a pack of gum she wanted and rather than giving into her, he told her no. She swallows gum. Every single time. You can’t give it to her. He said no and she lost it, threw herself on the ground and he had to carry her out kicking and screaming.
“You’re a good dad, Ender. He doesn’t get to take that from you,” I remind him.
He half smiles, his eyes on the monitor beside us showing the baby’s heart beat holding steady. “I can’t believe I made it in time.” The worry in his voice makes my heart hurt for him. He’s not going to let this go. He’s always going to worry if his anger will push him over the edge. But I think it’s that realization he has that will keep him from ever hurting someone. He knows what it’s like to be hurt by the ones who are supposed to love you.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I tell him. My eyebrows draw, together as another contraction wrenches through me and I grip his hand, trying to push through it.
Ender rubs my back. “Shhh. It’s okay, baby,” he assures me in a low, calming tone.
I was a week early with this baby, and Ender got into town two hours before my water broke. It’s like this baby knew its daddy was home and they could make their appearance into the world.
The doctor peeks his head into the room with two nurses. “I hear we’re having a baby today.”
Dr. Brooks is the same doctor who delivered Eddie. “I’m ready. Let’s meet this little heart-burner,” I tease. I’m not even joking. I want this baby out of me.
They check my cervix, and by the pressure in my abdomen, I don’t need them to tell me it’s time. I know it is. My eyes meet Ender’s as he continues to hold my hand, his thumb brushing back and forth, soothing me. This time is so different than when Eddie was brought into the world. Though I loved having Arya with me, I appreciate the simplicity of having it be husband and wife bringing their child into the world together.
Thirteen minutes later, our son takes his first breath. I watch him carefully as they hold him up, smiling as he breathes in quick, startled pants. His blue eyes are open wide, a head full or dark hair matted to his head.
Tears surface in Ender’s eyes as he cuts the cord, but he doesn’t cry. His shoulders shake when he holds him for the first time, but again, no tears. “He looks like Eddie,” he whispers, gently rocking him as our son wails, letting us know he has excellent lungs.
“And you,” I tell him, peeking at my son for the first time. He’s right. He’s a spitting image of Eddie. His bottom lip sticks out as he squeezes his eyes shut in a trembled cry. “He’s so adorable.”
Ender draws in a careful, shaky breath. “He has your nose, baby.”
“And your lips.” Tears roll down my cheeks. “He’s a perfect combination of both of us.”
“What should we name him?” he asks, smiling at our son.
We’ve talked about names but haven’t decided on one in particular. “I like Hudson.”