Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(75)

“I have a wife . . . a child,” I said. “Her name is Meara. She’s four days old today, and she is just so damn beautiful.” My voice cracked as the weight of my words felt heavy around my chest.

“The moment I saw her, I knew I loved her. It was instantaneous, fierce, and staggering. I want to be her everything—her protector, her best friend, and her confidant. I want to be her hero, the one she turns to when she’s hurt and the name she cries out in the middle of the night. I felt all that and so much more in a single glance. I never knew fatherhood could be like that.”

My hand dropped to touch the smooth wood of the bench, tracing the pattern of the grain, like I’d done so many times before.

“Do you think our fathers felt that the first time they saw us?” I asked the silence, expecting no answer in return.

I hoped so. I looked back to those final moments in this hallway—the battles between Megan’s father and me, the tortured pain in his eyes.

Yes, in his world, there was no greater joy than Megan.

And he’d lost her.

There was a time in my life when I’d closed myself off from the world, too scared to risk the possibility of caring for anyone. After losing Megan, I couldn’t fathom the idea of putting myself out there again, only to be reduced to ashes once more.

But now, I knew. Love and life—it was all a risk. Shut yourself away from it, and you’d never know what might be waiting for you on the other side of it all.

I stepped into the NICU and spotted Lailah immediately, her eyes alight with warmth and tenderness, as Meara cuddled up to her chest for the first time.

Skin-to-skin—the nurse had said it was called kangaroo care. There were no blankets. It was just flesh against flesh as the baby snuggled under the shirt of the parent. It allowed the baby to stay warm and encouraged bonding.

For Lailah, it appeared to be the most wondrous experience in the world. My hands itched to do the same, but I knew I’d get my chance. For now, I just relished in the sight of my wife and daughter together for the first time.

I thanked God for the many miracles he’d granted in making this possible. The sheer fact that they were allowing Meara to be held meant that she was making serious strides. I knew her hospital time wouldn’t be coming to a close for a while, but this small step meant more to us than I could put into words.

Parents celebrated every milestone in their young child’s life, and this was just the beginning of ours.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Jude?” Lailah said as she saw me approach.

“One of the most amazing things I’ve ever witnessed,” I answered with sincerity, kneeling down in front of her.

“I didn’t think she’d be able to be held with the ventilator, but the nurse offered, and—” Her voice cracked.

“You’re a natural.”

Lailah held her for a few more minutes, enjoying her special time with our daughter, until the nurse placed her back under the warmer. We said our good-byes. It was getting harder and harder to do so, especially knowing Lailah was about to be discharged.

New mothers were supposed to leave with their babies.

I knew the second we left that hospital and arrived home without Meara, things would get worse.

And for once, I didn’t have a clue how to make it better.

She didn’t say a single word the entire way home.

Every time I opened my mouth to offer up something encouraging, something helpful, the words would get caught midway, and nothing but air would spring forth.

I felt like a failure to her, a traitor to the solid band of love and security woven around my left hand.

I wanted to comfort her, make all her doubts and fears fall away, as I’d done in the past, but in this instance, my own fears were just as overwhelming.

The physical pain I’d felt while walking out of that hospital without Meara consumed me, gnawed at me, until every step I’d taken away from her was like walking through quicksand—nearly impossible.

I didn’t know how to be strong for Lailah this time because nothing about this seemed right.

I had so much to be thankful for. Going into that hospital less than a week ago, I’d had no idea what to expect. Would my child take her first breath? Would I ever see my wife alive again?

But somehow, we were all still here yet not fully together.

I knew, deep down, eventually, we would have our day when pictures were taken after baby Meara finally graduated from the NICU to the real world, but for now, it was just the two of us parents returning to an empty house.

As we pulled into the driveway, I noticed a familiar car parked along the curb. As my eyes scanned the street, I spotted another and another. The street seemed to be filled entirely by our friends and family. I looked up at the house and realized it was brightly lit rather than dark and gloomy.

“Did you invite anyone over?” I asked, turning to Lailah.

She hadn’t yet looked up.

Her eyes jerked up toward the house in confusion. “No,” she answered.

We both jumped out of the car, intrigue now a key distraction for our sadness. We walked up to the front door, finding it unlocked, and we took hesitant steps inside.

“Surprise!” everyone yelled as Sandy bounced up to greet us.

“What in the world?” Lailah gasped, petting her mop of a dog while trying to figure out what was going on.