When her breathing finally began to steady, I turned to the nurse.
“Can we… can we hold our baby now?”
The nurse smiled and stepped forward, placing the baby gently into my arms. She was light, feather-soft, barely real, and I stared at her face, memorizing every crease, every flutter of her lashes, and every sound she made.
Her warmth seeped into my chest, anchoring me to something I hadn’t fully understood until now.
I turned to June.
“Here,” I said quietly. “Meet our daughter.”
June hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached for her. Her arms were still shaking, but she didn’t pull away. When the baby was finally in her arms, June stared down at her like she was looking at something sacred.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I’m your mom.”
Her voice broke, and a few tears fell, but she smiled through them. That was the moment everything changed.
We named her Victoria — Tori, for short.
“Because she’s going to win,” June said. “No matter what.”
Tori is six months old now. She laughs every time she hears June’s voice and shrieks like she’s auditioning for Broadway if we drive more than 10 minutes. She’s obsessed with gripping things — her toys, bibs, our fingers — especially June’s. Sometimes it feels like she’s holding on to more than just skin, like she knows who her anchor is already.
She’s fearless. She’s loud, curious, and beautiful. She’s all of June’s fire wrapped in a softer frame.
One night, I was walking past the nursery on my way to put the kettle on. The door was cracked just enough for me to see inside.
June was standing by the crib, gently swaying side to side with one hand resting on the railing. Tori was asleep, her little arms stretched overhead like she owned the whole bed. The room glowed from the nightlight, soft and golden, like it was holding them in place.
I didn’t want to interrupt, but something about the stillness made me pause.
“I’m sorry about that day,” June whispered, her voice barely above the hush of the baby monitor’s static. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. You were perfect. You are perfect.”
Tori stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
“I was just scared, my darling,” June continued. “Not of you. But of me. And of all the things I was still carrying.”
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