“I’m here,” she told them quietly. “I’m here. I will always be here.”
Across the room, their father stood still.
At first, he had looked stunned in a good way. Shocked, yes, but smiling. He had laughed once, almost nervously, when the third baby was born. But as the reality settled in, his smile faded.
He stepped closer to the bed.
He looked down at the five newborns, and something changed in his expression. It was small. Almost invisible. But she saw it.
He stared too long.
Not at her. At the babies.
His jaw tightened. His eyes moved from one face to another. The room was full of celebration, yet he seemed far away from it. The nurses continued talking, explaining weights and heart rates, but he barely responded.
She searched his face for reassurance, for shared wonder, for the same rush of love she felt. Instead, she saw hesitation.
Doubt.
