Page 28
I drop my keys on the kitchen counter and stare at the closed door of the nursery I’ve spent months preparing.
I did the right thing. I know I did. Leo needs to make this choice for the right reasons. But knowing I did the right thing doesn’t make it hurt less.
My phone sits silent on the counter, no missed calls or messages. Leo is probably asleep, exhausted from birth and the emotional upheaval of the past few days. I resist the urge to text him, to check if Emma is feeding well, if he needs anything. He has his Mom there if he needs anything. He doesn’t need me hovering.
I open the nursery door. Everything is exactly as I left it—the crib assembled and waiting, the changing table stocked with supplies, the rocking chair positioned by the window where morning light streams in. I’d imagined sitting there with our baby—Emma—feeding her bottles while Leo recovered, watching her sleep in the early hours of dawn.
The baby clothes I’d bought are folded neatly in the dresser. Tiny onesies and sleepers in soft pastels, all waiting for a daughter who might never live here.
I should pack these up. Take them to Michelle’s house tomorrow. From what I could see from Leo’s room, they were already quite well stocked but Emma came early. They might not have everything.
But as I begin folding the tiny clothes into a box, each piece feels like surrender.
Maybe Leo will choose me. Maybe when the hormones settle and the exhaustion fades, he’ll remember what we built together. The partnership that emerged from conflict. The love that survived every attempt to destroy it.
Or maybe he won’t. Maybe the cottage and the Bureau and all my mistakes will outweigh whatever good I’ve managed since then. Maybe he’ll decide that co-parenting from a distance is enough, that Emma deserves better than a father who once terrorized her other parent.
I pack methodically. Clothes in one box, toys in another, the mobile I’d hung over the crib carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Everything Emma might need, delivered to where she is instead of where I’d hoped she’d be.
The bed feels too large when I finally collapse into it later. I stretch across sheets that smell like me alone, no trace of Leo to make the space feel like home. My body aches with exhaustion but my mind won’t quiet, replaying every moment of Emma’s birth, every expression that crossed Leo’s face.
Sleep comes eventually, fitful and shallow, broken by dreams of tiny hands and Leo’s smile.
Morning arrives gray and drizzling, weather that matches my mood perfectly. I load the boxes into my car and drive through empty suburban streets toward Leo, practicing what I’ll say. Just dropping off supplies. Don’t want to wake Leo if he’s sleeping. Maybe I can hold Emma for a few minutes before I go.
Michelle Torres answers the door in a robe and slippers, coffee mug in hand, looking like she’s been up for hours despite the early time.
“.”
Her smile is warm but tired.
“I thought it might be you.”
“I brought some things for Emma,”
I say, gesturing toward the car.
“Clothes, supplies. I thought Leo might need them.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
She steps back to let me in.
“Leo’s still sleeping, but Emma’s been awake for an hour. She’s quite the early riser.”
I find Emma in the living room, lying on a blanket spread across the carpet, tiny arms and legs moving in the random patterns of newborn alertness. She’s wearing a pink sleeper I don’t recognize—something Michelle must have bought—and for a moment jealousy stabs through me. I should have been there for her first outfit change, her first morning at home.
Just as quickly, I realize how ridiculous the thought is. Perhaps I’m hormonal too.
“Would you like to hold her?”
Michelle asks gently.
“I was just about to make fresh coffee.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and settle carefully on the floor beside Emma. She turns toward me when I speak, those unfocused blue eyes seeming to track my movement.
“Good morning, sweetheart,”
I murmur, lifting her against my chest. She settles immediately, that same perfect fit I discovered at the hospital.
“Did you sleep well? Are you being good for Grandma?”
She makes a soft sound that might be contentment, one tiny hand grasping at my shirt. The simple contact floods me with protective warmth, with love so intense it threatens to unmake me completely.
“She knows you,”
Michelle observes from the kitchen doorway.
“She’s been fussier with everyone else, but she settles right down when she hears your voice.”
The observation should please me. Instead it makes everything more complicated. If Emma recognizes me, bonds with me, what happens if Leo decides we’re better apart? How do I maintain a relationship with my daughter while respecting her other father’s boundaries?
“?”
I look up to see Leo in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt that’s too big for him. He looks younger like this, softer, his hard edges temporarily blunted by exhaustion and new parenthood.
“Sorry,”
I say, starting to rise.
“I brought some things for Emma and your mother said she was awake—”
“It’s fine.”
Leo moves into the room, settling on the couch with careful movements that remind me his body is still recovering.
“You don’t have to explain wanting to hold your daughter.”
Your daughter. Not our daughter, not just Emma. The distinction matters, even if Leo doesn’t realize he’s made it.
“How are you feeling?”
I ask, adjusting Emma in my arms so Leo can see her face.
“Sore. Tired. Completely overwhelmed.”
He runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
“But good. Really good.”
Before I can respond, Leo’s phone starts ringing from the coffee table. He glances at it with a frown, noting the unknown number, but doesn’t move to answer.
“You should take it,”
I suggest.
“It’s been ringing all morning according to your mother.”
Leo reaches for the phone reluctantly, accepting the call with a wary “Hello?”
I watch his expression change as he listens, eyebrows rising with surprise, then something that might be excitement.
“Yes, this is Leo Torres,”
he says, sitting straighter.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
Another pause, longer this time, and Leo’s face transforms completely. The exhaustion falls away, replaced by the sharp intelligence I’ve come to associate with his professional self.
“That’s amazing!”
I try not to eavesdrop, but it’s impossible to ignore the conversation happening three feet away.
“Six months,”
Leo says eventually.
“That would give me time for proper paternity leave, yes.”
He glances at Emma in my arms, something soft in his expression.
“I’d love to accept. When do you need an answer?”
The call continues for another ten minutes, Leo taking notes on the back of an envelope, asking questions about caseload and travel requirements and partnership track. When he finally hangs up, he’s grinning.
“I’ve just been offered a job. They want me,”
he says, wonder in his voice.
“Full-time associate position, starting in six months. Specialty in designation discrimination cases.”
“That’s incredible,”
I tell him, and mean it.
“Congratulations.”
“They said I’m ‘the man who changed Thorndike’s mind,’”
Leo adds with a laugh.
“Apparently that carries weight in certain circles now.”
The comment should sting. Instead it fills me with pride.
“You deserve it,”
I say simply.
“You’ve worked incredibly hard.”
Emma chooses that moment to fuss, and I stand to walk her around the room, swaying gently until she settles. Leo watches us, something unreadable in his expression.
The moment stretches between us, loaded with things neither of us knows how to say. Then Emma yawns, that perfect newborn gesture that makes everything else seem less important, and Leo smiles.
“She’s tired,”
he observes.
“And so am I, honestly. The job offer is amazing, but I can barely think straight right now.”
“You should rest,”
I agree, settling Emma back on her blanket.
“I should go anyway. Let you recover.”
I make my goodbyes quietly, promising Michelle I’ll bring more supplies if they need anything, kissing Emma’s forehead one more time before I leave. Leo walks me to the door, moving slowly but steadily.
“Thank you,”
he says as I reach for the door handle.
“For everything. For bringing the baby things, for being here when she was awake. For... all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me for wanting to be part of her life.”
“I know.”
He leans against the doorframe, suddenly looking very young.
“But I’m thanking you anyway.”
The rest of the day passes slowly—work emails I can’t focus on, a research paper I read three times without absorbing, dinner I eat without tasting.
By evening, I’ve accepted that this might be my new reality. Careful visits to see Emma, polite conversations with Leo, co-parenting from a respectful distance.
It’s not what I wanted. But if it’s what Leo needs, I can learn to live with it.
The knock at my door comes at 9:30 PM, soft but insistent. I open it expecting a neighbor or delivery driver, certainly not Leo standing in my hallway with Emma’s carrier in one hand and a overnight bag in the other.
“Hi,”
he says, suddenly shy in a way that transforms his entire face.
“I was wondering if that offer was still open.”
For a moment I can’t speak, can’t process what I’m seeing. Leo here, at my apartment, with our daughter and luggage and an expression that’s hopeful and terrified in equal measure.
“Of course,”
I manage finally, stepping back to let them in. “Always.”
Leo enters slowly, taking in the space he’s never seen before. His scent immediately makes the apartment feel more like home than it has in months.
“The nursery is this way,”
I say, leading him down the hallway.
“Everything’s ready.”
I open the door to reveal the room I’d prepared so carefully, the crib and changing table and rocking chair all exactly where I’d imagined them. Leo steps inside, setting Emma’s carrier down gently, and turns in a slow circle.
“You really did get everything ready,”
he says, wonder in his voice.
“I hoped,”
I admit.
“I didn’t know if you’d ever want to use it, but I hoped.”
Leo moves to the crib, running his hand along the rail I’d spent hours sanding smooth.
“It’s perfect.”
“You don’t have to use this room,”
I add quickly.
“If you’d prefer to keep Emma with you, the master bedroom is large enough for the bassinet. I can sleep in here. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Leo turns to face me, something shifting in his expression.
“Actually,”
he says, voice soft but certain.
“I was hoping I could sleep in your bed. With you. If that’s okay.”
My heart stops, then restarts with painful intensity. “Leo—”
“I thought about what you said,”
he continues, moving closer.
“About making sure I was choosing this for the right reasons. And I am. I’m choosing you, . Not because I’m grateful or overwhelmed or chemically programmed to need alpha protection. I’m choosing you because I love you. Because I want to build a life with you. Because I can’t imagine raising Emma anywhere else.”
The words wash over me like absolution.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Leo reaches for my hands, intertwining our fingers.
“I mean, I still think you’re full of shit about half the time. Your faith in the institution is naive, your attitude to omegas drives me crazy, and you’re way too stubborn for your own good.”
I laugh despite the emotion threatening to choke me.
“Those sound like criticisms.”
“They are.”
Leo’s smile is soft, fond, absolutely certain.
“But I love you anyway. All of you. Even the parts that make me want to argue.”
“I love you too,”
I tell him, lifting our joined hands to kiss his knuckles.
“More than I thought possible.”
Emma stirs in her carrier, making the soft sounds that mean she’ll be awake soon, demanding attention and food and the constant care that newborns require.
“We should move her bassinet into the bedroom,”
Leo says practically.
“She’ll be up every few hours.”
“Whatever you need.”
Leo watches as I move it into the main bedroom, holding Emma as I push the furniture and bring in the changing table.
“There,”
he says finally, settling Emma into the bassinet once I’m done.
“That should work.”
We get ready for bed quietly, aware of our sleeping daughter but also of each other. Leo borrows one of my t-shirts, the fabric hanging loose on his smaller frame, and the sight of him in my clothes sends a possessive thrill through me.
“Just sleeping,”
Leo says as we settle into bed, but he curves against my side like he belongs there.
“I’m still recovering, and she’ll be awake soon anyway.”
“Just sleeping,”
I agree, though holding him like this feels more intimate than sex.
“?”
Leo’s voice is soft in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for waiting.”
I press a kiss to the top of his head, breathing in his scent, feeling the solid weight of him against my chest.
“Thank you for choosing me at all.”
Emma makes a soft sound from her bassinet, not quite awake but stirring toward sleep. In a few hours she’ll be hungry and demanding attention. In time, Leo will be more recovered and we’ll have to navigate the physical side of our relationship.
In six months he’ll start his new job and we’ll figure out how to balance career and family and everything that is different about us.
But right now, in this moment, Leo is in my arms and our daughter is safe in her bed and we’re finally, truly, home.