Epilogue

She’s lyingin the hospital bed, her hands resting on the cute green covers, the little bassinet next to her.

I stand at her bedside, watching her sleep, exhaustion sitting in my bones. Her exhaustion and mine. But that fatigue is accompanied by comfort, satisfaction, and a happiness that’s unparalleled.

Because my baby girl is sleeping in the bassinet beside her mama. She’s a tiny little thing, with soft dark hair, her peony blue eyes closed now, as she sleeps, and her little fist, so impossibly small, lifted to her mouth.

My gaze switches out between them, my daughter resting, my wife asleep in the bed, exhausted after giving birth, and I can barely handle it.

Do I deserve to have this much love in my life?

I’ll never be sure, but I am selfish enough to never let it go. I will spend my life looking after them.

Hannah’s eyes flicker open and connect with mine, and she takes my breath away. I’m fucking instantly choked up, trying to swallow the emotion that’s lodged in my throat.

“Hey,” she whispers. “There you are. Daddy.”

“Daddy?”

“That’s what she’ll call you. Don’t make it weird, Carter.”

I let out a low laugh that rumbles through the room. My daughter makes a little whining sigh that’s the most impossibly cute thing I’ve heard in my life.

Hannah shushes me and gestures me closer.

I move in and bend over the bed, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips. “How are you feeling?” I ask her. “Did you get enough sleep?”

“I have no idea,” she says. “But I feel good. Tired but good. She’s here. I can’t believe she’s here.”

I sit down on her bed with her, and we both stare at the clear bassinet they’ve placed her in. She’s wrapped in a pink blanket, and she’s sleeping peacefully, which I doubt will last long. I wrap my arm around around Hannah’s shoulders and enjoy this moment.

“Do you think we’ll be good enough?” Hannah whispers. “You know, as parents?”

“Maybe,” I say. “We can work on it.”

“There are like fifty parenting books in my wishlist,” she whispers. “It’s funny, when you’re getting ready for the baby to come, you read so much about having the baby and being pregnant that you kind of forget the other stuff.”

“We’re going to do this together,” I whisper. “We’ll take shifts sleeping.”

“That sounds sweet, but I’m the one with the milk.”

“True.” I kiss her forehead. “Look, we’re going to do the best we can, and we’re going to make sure that she has the best life possible. That she always has us to turn to when she needs someone. That we’re patient and kind.”

“Why are you so perfect?” Hannah rests her head against my chest. “I swear, I didn’t stand a chance when I first laid eyes on you.”

“You’re stealing my lines,” I say, and kiss the top of her head. “What do you want to call her?”

We’re both silent for a while.

The baby shifts and mewls in her bassinet, and I get up and carefully remove her from it. She’s sniffling and seeking with her mouth. I brush my fingers over her soft forehead then hand her Hannah.

She shifts our baby girl’s weight in her arms, and undoes her nursing bra. I help her position the baby so that her little mouth can latch over Hannah’s nipple. Breastfeeding is something we researched and read about a lot. We’re hoping Hannah will be able to breastfeed, but we’re prepared if that’s not a possibility.

Our daughter settles against her breast, suckling quietly, her fist resting against Hannah’s skin. The little baby noises are adorable. Hannah’s eyes are filled with unshed tears, and she wears a smile as she looks up at me.

“I think I know what we should call her,” she whispers.

I sit down next to her again, staying on the edge of the bed so she has room to feed. “What is it, Princess?”

“Rose,” she whispers. “We should name her Rose.”

“That’s perfect.” I press a kiss to Hannah’s forehead, then place a protective arm around her shoulders again. I’ve encircled my little family with love. As we sit there together, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. For both of them.

I would fight for them. Stand for them. Even let them go, if it was what they wanted.

Hannah and Rose. They’ve taught me the meaning of love again, and it’s not a cloying desperation or a need for control, or the burden of responsibility and the pain of loss.

It’s freedom.

And I will love them until my last breath.