She was warm. So impossibly small.
A tuft of dark curls rested against her pink scalp, and her sleepy eyes fluttered open for barely a second before closing again. I touched her cheek with shaking fingers and felt tears spill down my face.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.
I looked toward my husband, waiting to see the same awe in his eyes.
Instead, I saw confusion.
Then suspicion.
Dylan stood near the hospital window with his hands buried inside his jacket pockets, staring at the baby as though someone had handed him a stranger’s child. The expression on his face chilled me more than the freezing air conditioning.
The nurse smiled politely. “Dad, would you like to hold her?”
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