The nurse barely had time to react before I pushed through the door. She looked stunned, like she hadn’t expected any of this either.
Inside, the air felt too still, too thick. The lights buzzed faintly. June was in the bed, pale, slick with sweat, and trembling. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, like she’d just seen something she couldn’t process.
A nurse stood beside her, holding the newborn. The umbilical cord was still attached. Another nurse hovered close, speaking softly, like they were both trying to keep something from falling apart.
“Ma’am,” one of them said, “this is your baby… She’s still attached to you.”
June shook her head firmly. Tears streamed down her face, hot and heavy.
“No,” she cried, her voice catching. “You don’t understand! Tony! That’s not — that’s not mine!”
No one moved. Even the machines seemed to go quiet.
I rushed to her side and took her hand. It was cold and clammy.
“June,” I said, crouching beside her, trying to meet her eyes. “I’m here. Talk to me, my love. What’s going on?”
But she didn’t look at me. Her gaze was locked on the baby. She looked terrified, like she was staring at a stranger she wasn’t expecting, like something had gone terribly, impossibly wrong.
I turned slowly, heart in my throat, afraid of what I’d see and somehow more afraid of what I might feel.
The baby was still crying, but softer now. Her skin was flushed and red, her face scrunched in protest, her limbs twitching beneath a pale pink blanket.
She was tiny, so impossibly small, with fists clenched tight and her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
She was beautiful.
“She’s perfect,” I said quietly, as if speaking too loud might shatter the moment. I turned to Dr. Lowe, who stood at the foot of the bed, still focused and calm.
“Is she… is she healthy?” I asked.
He smiled gently, like he understood what it meant for someone to need that answer more than anything.
“She’s perfectly healthy,” he said. “Strong lungs, steady heartbeat. No complications. Congratulations, Dad.”
Something heavy lifted from my chest then. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding my breath until it came out in a single, shaky exhale. For a moment, the fear began to ease.
But when I turned back to June, the look in her eyes stopped me cold.
She wasn’t relieved. She wasn’t crying tears of joy. Instead, her shoulders were still trembling, and her hands were gripping the bedsheets so tightly her knuckles had gone white. When her gaze met mine, it was full of something I couldn’t place — grief, maybe, or guilt.
Or both.
“I thought it would be a boy,” she whispered, barely loud enough to hear.
“What?” I blinked slowly.
“I thought…” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard. “I thought it was a boy. I believed it. I felt it. I know we agreed to let it be a surprise… but we should have just had the sex revealed, Anthony.”
“You never said anything,” I said, my voice gentler than I expected.
She looked away, ashamed.
“I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. But I bought little blue onesies. I bought toy cars, and I… Tony, I even picked out a name.”
“Why, June? Why were you so sure?” I asked, kneeling beside her, still holding her hand.
She turned back to me, and this time when our eyes met, I saw it — the real reason. It wasn’t disappointment I saw. It was fear. A deep, buried fear that was bleeding out into every inch of her.
“Because it’s easier for boys,” she said, her voice cracking. “Because I don’t want her to go through what I did. I don’t want her to be scared, Anthony. I don’t want her to feel powerless. And I sure as hell don’t want her to grow up thinking her body is a weapon, or a target.”
And in that moment, I understood. My wife wasn’t simply looking at our daughter. She was seeing her own reflection in our baby’s eyes.
I reached for her hand again and held it tight.
“She’s not you, June,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my throat ached. “And you’re not who you used to be. We’ll raise her to be strong. We’ll teach her that she has power. We’ll make sure she knows how to use it. And if anyone ever tries to hurt her… They’ll have to go through me first.”
But a part of me still wondered — what if I don’t always know how to protect her? What if I mess this up, too?
June let out a shaky breath that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh. Her eyes searched mine, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before.
“Do you promise?” she whispered. “Do you promise you’ll love her just as much as if she were a boy?”
“I already do,” I said. “I’ve adored her from the moment you told me you were pregnant.”
She nodded slowly, leaning into me until her forehead pressed against my collarbone. Her fingers curled tightly into my shirt, like she was trying to hold herself together with whatever strength I had left.
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