Chapter 4: Morning
I slept in short, uneven stretches. Each time I woke, Nathan was still there—sometimes standing by the window, sometimes sitting in the chair with Lily against his chest, once speaking quietly to the night nurse about the next dose of pain medication. He did not hover. He simply remained present in a way that required no performance.
Shortly after six, the doctor came through on rounds. The observation period would end by late morning if the scans remained clear and the pain stayed controlled. Discharge paperwork would follow. I would need help at home for at least several days—lifting restrictions, limited use of the left arm, fatigue from the ribs and the stitches.
When the doctor left, Nathan glanced at me.
“You have a plan for home?”
“Not a good one.”
He nodded once, as if that confirmed something he had already decided.
“I can take night shifts with her for a few days. You sleep. I’ll sleep when you can manage. Door between the units stays unlocked if you want it that way. Or I can stay in the living room. Your call.”
I stared at him.
“You barely know me.”
“I know you called when you had no one else. I know she stops crying when she’s held properly. The rest we can figure out without making it complicated.”
The simplicity of it undid me more than any speech could have. I looked down at my cast and the thin hospital blanket and felt the full weight of the previous night settle into something clearer: my parents had made a choice. Nathan had made a different one. I was allowed to build the next days around the choice that had kept my daughter safe.
“The living room is fine,” I said. “If you’re sure.”
May you like
“I’m sure.”
He said it the same way he had said everything else since midnight—without drama, without needing credit.
