Sharp.
Angry.
Beautiful.
My baby.
A sob tore from my chest so violently I could barely breathe.
Linda laughed in relief. “There he is.”
Ethan closed his eyes briefly.
And I realized he had been praying.
The tiny crying bundle was lifted into view.
Dark hair.
Tiny clenched fists.
Red furious face.
Perfect.
“He’s healthy,” Linda announced.
The entire room exhaled.
I collapsed back against the pillow shaking.
Ethan stood frozen beside the bed staring at the baby like nothing else existed.
Then Linda glanced between us.
“Dad want to cut the cord?”
The question hit like a grenade.
Ethan looked at me.
Not demanding.
Not assuming.
Asking.
For the first time in years.
Something inside my chest twisted painfully.
I should have said no.
Maybe part of me wanted to.
But another part remembered every night Ethan had pressed his ear against my stomach years ago when we were trying unsuccessfully for children.
Remembered the devastation in his eyes after every negative pregnancy test.
Remembered him pretending not to cry in the shower.
So I nodded once.
His hands shook while he cut the cord.
The second it was done, the baby screamed louder.
And Ethan laughed.
Actually laughed.
A broken, disbelieving sound.
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
Linda placed the baby against my chest.
The moment his tiny body touched mine, the world changed.
Everything stopped hurting.
