"Mr. De La Rosa, she's in good hands. We'll need to give her some medication to increase contractions. If they are strong enough, we won't need to take her to surgery. But right now, you can't be in here. It's not safe for her or the baby. Do you understand?"
"Santiago?" Marco's voice comes from behind me, his hand settling over my shoulder. "Come outside with me. Let them take care of Ivy."
I don't want to leave her because I'm fucking terrified I might not get her back. The helpless uncertainty hanging over me makes me desperate.
"Please take care of her." I reach out and grab the nurse by the arms. "Please don't let anything happen to her."
She swallows, sadness reflected in her eyes. "I will treat her as if she were my own sister, Mr. De La Rosa. We'll do everything we can."
With that last assurance and a fleeting glance at my wife, I'm dragged out of the room by Marco and directed by the hospital guard to go to the waiting room. With nothing else to do, I hang my head and silently plead for a miracle.
* * *
"Mr. De La Rosa?" I whip my hazy eyes up to the nurse standing at the entrance of the waiting room.
She’s smiling reassuringly as she draws closer. "Are you ready to meet your daughter?"
"Daughter?" I stagger to my feet, eyes darting behind her, searching for any sign of the baby. “Where is she?”
“We have her in the NICU right now as a precautionary measure, but you can see her now,” she tells me. “Follow me, and I’ll show you.”
“What about Ivy?” I ask. “Why aren’t they together? Is she okay?”
"I know this is very difficult." The nurse settles her hand on my arm in a gesture of comfort. "But your wife's vitals are stable. The doctor is finishing up with her now. We'll continue to observe her, but the delivery went very well. Right now, I think the best thing you can do for your family is be there for your daughter. She’s doing very well, considering the circumstances, and we just want to monitor her to ensure she remains healthy and stable. She is the daughter of a Sovereign Son, after all, and we want to ensure she has the best possible care."
I glance at Marco, and he nods in silent agreement. "I'll stay right here, boss. I'll keep an eye on your wife when they let me back in."
"Thank you, Marco.”
Hesitantly, I follow the nurse down the hall and into the elevator and through another maze before we reach the NICU. She uses a badge to enter the doors and then walks to the room where the nameplate outside reads “baby De La Rosa.”
A choking sensation lingers in my throat as we enter the room, and I see the tiny baby for the first time. She’s tucked inside a clear plastic encasement with holes on the side.
“Why is she in there?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s an incubator,” she tells me. “Baby is doing okay, but she’s early, so we want to monitor her closely. Keep her temperature stabilized, her oxygen, heart rate. This is how we keep premature babies safe.”
“But she’s okay?” I ask again, my eyes moving to the small human I’m too nervous to approach.
“Her vitals are good,” the nurse explains. “The doctor has given her a full exam to test her reflexes and muscle tone, and everything is as expected. She’ll need to spend time in the incubator, but for now, would you like to hold her for a few minutes?”
“Hold her?” I repeat. “Is that… safe?”
“It's okay.” The nurse smiles. “She’s stable right now, and skin-to-skin contact is very important for preemies. It encourages bonding, and it can even help regulate her breathing, heart rate, and blood sugar. If we can do skin-to-skin contact every day, we aim for that because it usually means the babies will get to go home sooner.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask helplessly.
She glances at my shirt as if it should be obvious. “Usually, skin-to-skin is during breastfeeding, but in this case, you’ll be bottle feeding, so—”
“I need to take off my shirt?”
An image of me holding my daughter for the first time nestled against the scars on my chest makes me ill. She will hate me from the start.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” the nurse assures me. “But just think of it as a way to help your baby. You’ll give her all those feel-good chemicals, help her sleep better, and give her the best possible start.”
Not seeing an alternative, I reach for the hem of my shirt and peek up at the nurse. “You may not want to look at this.”
“Trust me,” she says. “I’ve seen it all. But you just get comfortable in that seat, and I’ll get baby out for you.”
I do as she says, awkwardly folding up my shirt and setting it onto the table beside me when I sit down. My hands feel hot, and my chest is tight when she removes my daughter from the case, adjusting the wires on her body and removing her hat before she brings her to me.
Extending her arms, the nurse leans down toward me and waits for me to take her.
Terror claws at me as my eyes move over the tiny face in disbelief. I have a daughter. And I'm alone, and I have no fucking idea what to do with her.
"Here." Sensing my shock, the nurse settles the baby next to my chest, helping me cradle her in my arms before she covers us with a small blanket.
She’s warm, and soft, and I’m expecting the screaming to start right away, but it doesn’t. One second passes, then two, and I draw in a quiet breath, settling into the position as the cloudy blue eyes open briefly and then shut again.
And finally, I
