Unseen Messages(145)

Galloway had never shared his past with me. He still refused to say what changed his heart from such a caring, wonderful man into a hardened cynic. But none of that mattered because as he held his child and patted its back to earn a squall from new lungs, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“Oh, my God.” He cupped our baby so rapturously; she was instantly promoted as priestess of his heart.

I’d done it.

I’d endured my worst fear and delivered a healthy child.

I’d given us a girl.





Chapter Fifty-Two


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G A L L O W A Y

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MARCH

THERE WAS A new dimension to our marriage.

A deeper depth.

A complicated, awe-inspiring connection.

After Estelle had given birth, I passed her our daughter and helped her deliver the afterbirth. Once done and both mother and child were clean, I carried the loves of my life and tied off the umbilical cord.

Using the Swiss Army knife (sterilized in the fire), I had the honour of separating the final link and creating a brand new tiny human.

I did all that on instinct.

I’d never been around a newborn before.

I’d never watched what happened or what to do afterward.

But the knowledge was inside me, just like the knowledge that I’d found my soul-mate, and together, we were invincible.

Those first few nights were hard.

I was tired.

Estelle was knackered.

Yet we had a brand new person demanding to be fed and changed and tended to. We alternated between zombie-like awakeness and catatonic sleeping.

Pippa and Conner were left to their own devices, and instead of burning down the camp, they kept me and Estelle fed. They cleaned the house, they fished, they cooked. They made me so damn proud and grateful.

There were so many things to juggle.

The first time Estelle breast fed freaked me out until the baby settled into suckling.

The first time breakfast went through my daughter to reappear in a disgusting mess, taught us that hygiene would be paramount.

And the first time she burped and fell asleep in our arms, ensured we’d put up with anything because we were in love.

We cut up a ratty t-shirt and transformed it into a reusable diaper.

We held each other when the baby slept and sympathized when she wouldn’t stop crying.

So many firsts.

So many things to learn and overcome.

By the time the first week passed, we’d recovered enough to be mildly coherent.

However, Estelle suffered a breakdown when her nipples became sore from constant feeding, and I felt utterly inadequate because I couldn’t take over and prevent her pain.

All I could do was hold her, rock her, and keep our baby as clean as possible.

Our island hadn’t changed.

But my God, our world had.

Late one night, lying in bed with a scarf-swaddled baby on my chest and my wife in my embrace, I murmured, “I’m so bloody proud of you, Stel.”

She kissed the skin above my heart. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Let’s be honest. Yes, you could.” I smiled in the dark. “But I appreciate you saying that.”

She sat up on her elbows and kissed my lips. “That’s a lie. I’m only alive because of your sheer stubbornness to keep me that way.”

“That stubbornness is what will get us through the next few months.”

She glanced at our child. “You’re very adaptable, G. I look at you and think that you were born for this life. Like it wasn’t an accident that you landed here.”

I shrugged. “What choice did we have? It was survive or die. I chose to survive. We all did.”

She ran her finger down the ridge of my nose and traced my bottom lip. “Know what else we haven’t chosen?”

“No, what?”

“A name.”

“Ah, yes.” I chuckled. “I remember asking you about that last week and you bursting into tears saying it was too much pressure to name someone for the rest of their life.”

“Yes, well.” She smirked. “I might’ve been dealing with overtiredness at the time.” Her gaze dropped as she turned shy. “I have a suggestion...if you want to hear it?”

Our daughter squirmed as I arched my neck and kissed her. “By all means, share away.”

She took a deep breath. “If you hate it, we don’t have to.”

“You’re making it sound like you want to name her something terrible.”

“Well, we all have different opinions on what terrible entails.”

“How about you just blurt it out, so I’m not wondering if our kid will be named Daffodil or Edwina.”

She swatted me. “Those aren’t terrible, terrible.”

I rolled my eyes. “Come on, spit it out.”

Her body tensed as she said, “Coconut.”

“Coconut?”

She flopped onto her back. “Forget it, it’s stupid.”

Coconut.

Coco.

Sweet little Coco.

My lips twitched. “So, you prefer a fruit over a name like Hope or Faith or We’ll Survive This Island No Matter What?”

She scowled. “I just told you to forget it. You’re right...it’s silly.”