Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(75)

I finally get too tired to pace and sit down next to Ellie’s uncle, across from my mom.

“I wish my brother was here to see this.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

This should be a happy time of anticipation but there’s a heavy pall over the room. Even my sisters feel it. They sit cross-legged and watch cartoons after Ellie’s uncle figures out how to work the television, but their eyes are quick, seeking. Kids always know when there’s something wrong.

“Mister Marshall?”

After all that, I didn’t see the doctor come in. My father jerks awake and then deflates a little in the seat when he realizes he’s not being addressed.

I get up and rush to the doctor. I expected him to show up wearing a mask and apron and come in covered in blood with a mournful look on his face, but he’s just in scrubs.

“Follow me.”

With every beat my heart climbs a little higher as I walk down the antiseptic-smelling hallway. The door to Ellie’s room is open. I can see her silhouette through the curtain blocking her off from the view from the hall.

In the intensive care maternity ward, I have to wash my hands before I can see my wife. The soft bleeping of her heart rate on the monitor lifts my spirit a little, but then I hear her weeping softly.

My last shreds of self control break and I shove through the curtain into the room to find Ellie lying propped up in bed, whimpering as she holds a bundle in her arms.

Oh God, my child…

A tiny hand, pink and perfect, reaches up and grasps at her.

I rush over and bite my fist to stop from crying out. A perfectly healthy baby rests against Ellie’s breast, staring at the new world around her. Her little blue eyes lock on me.

“Hi, Daddy,” Ellie murmurs, but it comes out garbled from her crying. She hasn’t stopped.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She sucks in a breath. “I was so scared.”

My child’s fingers wrap around my thumb.

“I know. I was afraid I’d lose you both.”

“It’s not that. I mean I was scared of that, but…”

She barks out a sob. “She’s not crying. I thought she’d be afraid of me.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead.

“Why would she? You’re her mommy.”

“Take her.”

I lift my child into my arms and stand up. She’s so light, I can barely feel the weight.

“Hi.”

She’s a little young to reply but she smiles.

Ellie reaches for her, and I deliver our daughter into her arms and kiss her lightly on the forehead. She’s pale and covered in sweat but she’s never been more beautiful to me than she is right now. She’s absolutely angelic as she holds my child in her arms. Her soft smile is so real, so easy, so relaxed that I wish I could keep it forever. Our lives are never going to be easy. Ellie will always carry the marks of what Jessica did to her, to us, both physical and spiritual, but those marks don’t matter, not to me. They’re part of her and they’re beautiful.

“We need a name.”

“What was your mom’s name?”

“Amber.”

“Amber it is.”