“She’s perfect,” Knox whispers, his voice cracking. “Look at her fingers. They are so tiny.”
“And her ears,” I add, grinning so wide my face hurts. “She has your ears, Knox.”
Knox huffs a quiet laugh. “Let’s hope she grows into them.”
“I think she will,” I say. “I think she’s going to look just like her mom.”
Eli is sitting in the armchair by the window, holding Amber’s hand. She’s asleep, exhausted from labor, but she looks peaceful. Her color is back, healthy pink.
Eli looks up at us. “You should hold her.”
“I can’t,” I say. “What if I drop her? What if I break her?”
“You won’t,” Knox says firmly. “You’re her father. Hold her.”
My heart stutters at that word.Father.
I take a breath and reach in. I lift her, supporting her heavy head, and tuck her against my chest. She fits in my arms like she was made specifically for this spot.
I look down at her, at her long dark lashes, at her tiny, pursed lips.
“Hi,” I whisper. “I’m going to teach you to cook eggs. And I’m going to teach you that it’s okay to make messes. And I’m going to love you so much.”
She shifts slightly, making a soft, snuffly noise, and burrows her face into my shirt.
“Fallon,” Knox breathes out. “You’re doing it.”
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes burning. “I am.”
I look over at Eli. He’s watching us with a look of pure, unadulterated love.
“Come meet your daughter,” I tell him.
Eli stands up carefully and walks over. He reaches out to stroke her cheek with his knuckle.
“She’s beautiful,” Eli whispers. “Our girl.”
“Our girl,” Knox agrees. “Now and forever.”
My eyes drift to bedside table. There’s a card leaning against the lamp. It’s simple, store-bought, but the handwriting on the back is shaky but neat.
I’m sorry for everything. Thank you for giving me a second chance. I hope you have a safe delivery. I’ll be thinking of you both.— Jessica
I stare at the card for a long time.
My mind flashes back. I remember Amber standing in that police station, looking at Jessica with those hollow eyes. I remember the fear.
And then I remember the last few months.
I remember Amber in the kitchen, eating pickles dipped in chocolate milk with a look of bliss on her face.
I remember Knox sleeping on the floor beside her bed when she had a nightmare.
I remember Eli reading the same parenting book five times, annotating the margins until they were black with ink.
I remember the way she laughed when I almost glued my thumb to the crib.
She didn’t just survive the fire. She didn’t just survive Luke. She bloomed. She turned ash into a garden.
