"This one," she said.
I saw him.
Our baby.
He was so small, small as a doll. His skin was translucent pink—I could see the delicate blood vessels beneath. His arms, legs, chest—all connected to various tubes and electrode patches.
But he was breathing. I could see his little chest rising and falling. Gentle but steady.
"He's very strong," the nurse said. "Only four pounds at birth, but all his indicators are improving. The doctor said in about six more weeks, he can move to the regular nursery."
I pressed my hand against the incubator glass. Through that transparent barrier, I looked at this tiny life. Though we were meeting for the first time, I felt strangely familiar with him. His face held traces of both Lucas and me. The feeling was truly miraculous.
Then he moved. A very slight movement—his little fingers curled. His eyelids fluttered as if trying to open, but only managed a crack before closing again, exhausted.
Those eyes were misty gray, like dawn sky. Like Lucas's eyes. Premature babies' retinas were still fragile, but I felt he could sense my presence. Because his mouth curved upward.
My tears fell again, unstoppable this time.
"He's smiling," I choked out. "Lucas, look, he's smiling at us."
Lucas pressed his hand against the glass too, right next to mine. His fingers overlapped mine, separated by a layer of glass, touching our child.
"He knows we're here." Lucas's voice trembled too. "Usually, he's asleep at this time. He must feel how much his mom and dad love him."
"You've been here constantly?" I asked.
"You were in the recovery room after surgery," he said. "I couldn't stay with you the whole time. So I came every two hours to make sure he was okay."
My heart felt squeezed tight.
I looked at the baby in the incubator, then at Lucas. This man, who could go months without coming home for his career, now checked on his child every two hours.
He'd truly kept the promise he made me on the phone. He could give up everything for family.
"This is our first time together as a family of three," I said softly.
Lucas looked at me, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"I want to give us a chance," I continued. "I think Mr. Rockefeller, Mrs. Hughes, and everyone else at the manor would love to see the baby, too."
He went completely rigid, as if not daring to believe what he'd heard.
"You mean..." His voice suddenly trembled wildly. "You're willing to come back to the manor? Willing to return to everyone?"
"Yes, Lucas," I smiled and nodded. "Didn't you say everyone misses me? I think... the past is past. I believe our future will be even better."
I wouldn't run from any of it anymore. I'd face the future with courage and optimism.
Lucas suddenly dropped to his knees, arms wrapping around my shoulders, burying his face behind my neck. His shoulders shook, and I felt warm moisture soaking through the hospital gown.
He was crying.
This man, who never showed weakness in public, who made ruthless decisions in boardrooms—he was crying like a child.
"Thank you," his voice was muffled. "Thank you for still believing in me. Thank you for giving me this chance."
My hand rested on his head, gently stroking his hair. Those few gray hairs slid between my fingers. I hoped the next time I touched his hair, those white strands would be gone.
