Page 54 of Living for Truth (Broken Shelves #2)

Morgan

I ’m going to be a dad today.

Well, I’m going to be a dad again.

I swear my heart fell out of my butt when Hannah said her water broke, I barely remember getting here. I’m glad my dad drove us because it was probably safer than if I had.

We had to wait a few hours to do the cesarean procedure because Hannah had eaten today, and they didn’t want to risk aspiration.

Now, I’m waiting outside of the operating room in a white jumpsuit, mask, gloves, and a hat while I wait for Hannah to be prepped for her c-section, and I’m agitated because I want to be in there.

They’re doing a spinal block to numb her, and they won’t let me be there to comfort her or hold her.

I can hear her pained whimpers from the other side of the door, and it’s killing me.

Dr. Badar peeks out the door and guides me into the room, telling me to keep my hands to my chest so I don’t touch anything. I’m directed around the anesthesiologist to sit on a stool the size of a dinner plate at Hannah’s head.

She looks half asleep, most likely from the anesthesia and stress of everything happening with her body. Her eyes keep blinking open and closed, and she looks paler than ever. She gives me a small smile as I sit down.

I’m handed a bag in case Hannah feels like she needs to throw up—which feels like something that should absolutely not happen when she’s being cut open—and they’ve put up a curtain over her stomach so we can’t see what the doctors are doing on the other side.

Good, I don’t want to watch that.

The doctor narrates everything she’s doing, and part of me wishes she wouldn’t. I just want to know if the babies are okay.

Hannah winces, and I look over to see why.

From my vantage point, I can’t see anything surgical happening, but I can see the doctor from the hips up pushing herself on top of Hannah trying to push one of the babies out.

It looks like the doc is doing deck-ups out of a pool on Hannah’s stomach, Jesus Christ —but I’m assured it doesn’t hurt, it just feels like a lot of pressure, and then tiny little cries fill the operating room.

“Here’s baby number one, and she sounds great. Dad, you can follow the nurse over to the vitals station and watch her get cleaned up.”

I’m torn because I don’t want to leave Hannah while she’s still being operated on, but she gives me a small nod, so I follow the nurse with our first baby to a small room off of the operating room where she sucks the goop off of the baby and then checks her vitals.

“She’s four pounds, nine ounces. Which is a pretty good weight for twins born this early.

She seems to be doing well…” The nurse keeps telling me things about the baby.

Things I should probably listen to. She keeps gushing about the head of blonde hair matted to her head, but my attention is pulled back to the operating room wondering if Hannah and our other baby are okay.

I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the tiny human under the blue bili lights, but after what feels like an eternity, another nurse brings in my second daughter, and she isn’t crying as much as her sister.

“Is she okay?” Worry clogs my throat, making it hard to speak.

“She’s having some trouble breathing, but she let out a cry when we pulled her out, so she’ll be okay. Mom’s just getting stitched up, and we’ll bring her to where you and the babies will be waiting in the room.

My stomach turns because I don’t want to leave Hannah alone, but I swallow back my protest and focus on my daughters. I trust Hannah is in good hands with Dr. Badar.

“Baby B weighs four pounds seven ounces,” the nurse says as she continues to wipe the baby clean.

“Do you have names picked out yet?” the nurse tending to Baby A asks, and I shake my head.

Hannah and I decided to wait until we saw the girls to name them, and even though I want to give them names now, I won’t be doing that until she meets our daughters.

We’re guided back to the recovery room where they administer shots to the babies. Baby A screams bloody murder for a good three minutes when she’s poked, but Baby B just lets out a sad yelp of discomfort then goes back to sleep.

Hannah’s rolled in a few minutes later, looking exhausted. Once she’s been situated in the bed, the nurse hands over Baby A to Hannah who bursts into tears. I’m handed Baby B.

I sit on her bedside and kiss the side of Hannah’s head while we look down at our daughters, my own eyes blurring. I’m relieved everyone is okay, and so overjoyed at the gift Hannah has given to me. To us.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Butterfly. I love you so much.”

Hannah lifts her watery eyes to me. “I love you, too. I can’t believe my body made them.”

“I can. You are incredible. They’re so perfect. But… we need to name them.”

Hannah glances between the two babies then strokes the chubby cheek of the girl in her arms. “This is Poppy Fowler. And this,” she places a hand gently on the baby in my arms, “is Violet Fowler. What do you think?”

“I think those names are perfect for them. Violet is already much calmer than her sister. Poppy is fitting for this feisty little thing.”

“When will Aly be able to meet them?”

My heart fucking soars. She’s just come out of a major surgery, and she’s already thinking about when Aly can come see them. If I didn’t already have a plan in motion, I’d ask her if she wants to adopt Aly right now.

“Tomorrow morning. It’s late, and you need to rest, Butterfly.”

Hannah pouts. “Fine. I’m starving, too.”

“Let’s find some food for you.”