As the nurse guided me through each breath, Jaxon had to step aside briefly to fill out paperwork at her request. She’d assumed, naturally, that he was the baby’s father, and though we both knew he wasn’t, he filled out what he could without hesitation, nodding to me through the doorway. He was there for me, for my son.
Hours passed in a fog, my mind racing as I labored, until finally, finally, I heard the faint cry of my baby—a sound so powerful, it seemed to reach into my heart and stitch it back together. Relief washed over me as I fell back against the hospital bed, every ounce of strength gone, yet my spirit lighter than it had been in years.
The nurse placed my son in my arms, his tiny form bundled in a blue blanket, his features a soft reflection of my own. No trace of Cale, nothing but a pure, innocent spirit free of the pain that had brought him here. My heart swelled, a fierce love washing over me as I looked down at him. My child, my son. He was my flesh and blood, my hope for a life that was mine alone.