Chapter 3: Lines
They did not leave immediately.
Dad tried once more to assert control—asking the nurse about visitation rules, implying that a non-relative holding the baby was inappropriate, suggesting that my pain medication was clouding my judgment. The nurse, who had already seen too much of the evening, answered each point with professional flatness. The baby was calm. The mother had designated the current caregiver. Hospital policy did not require the infant to be surrendered to relatives who arrived hours late.
Whitney eventually muttered that she would wait in the hallway. Mom followed her after another minute of strained silence. Dad remained the longest, standing near the foot of the bed as if the act of leaving would confirm a defeat he refused to name.
“This isn’t over,” he said at last. “We’ll talk when you’re thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking clearly now,” I answered. “That’s the problem.”
He left without another word.
When the door closed, the room felt larger. Nathan remained where he was, still holding Lily, as if abrupt movement might undo the quiet she had found. I leaned my head back against the raised bed and closed my eyes for a moment while the pain in my ribs and arm settled into a more manageable throb.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said eventually. “You’ve already done more than anyone else.”
“I’ll stay until you’re discharged or until you have a plan that doesn’t involve dropping her,” he said. “Whichever comes first.”
I opened my eyes. He was watching the door more than me, posture relaxed but attentive in the way of someone used to long watches.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Then don’t. Just rest.”
May you like
Lily made a small feeding sound. Nathan looked at me, waiting for instruction rather than assuming. I walked him through the bottle preparation with the supplies the nurse had left, and he followed each step without commentary or visible discomfort. When Lily was feeding, the only sound in the room was the soft rhythm of it.
For the first time since the accident, the panic loosened its grip enough for exhaustion to take its place.
