Page 137 of Things We Burn

I nodded, even though it went against every instinct in my body to have my daughter taken from me, even if it was just a few feet across the room.

Kane followed the nurses, a hairbreadth away from them, not letting our daughter out of his sight.

My mother came to kiss my head.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “You did so wonderful, my baby.”

I let a single tear slip, watching Kane’s back.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “We did.”

The chaos of labor gave room to quiet. My doctor left after stitching me up and telling me she’d be back in the morning.

Stitches. Down there. It made sense since I’d felt the horrible ripping sensation as Mabel came out. Worth it, completely worth it.

A nurse got me up and helped me to the bathroom. I walked hunched over, totally in shock at how much pain I was in. I couldn’t straighten.

She helped me onto the toilet, and I didn’t have the energy to feel shame. She also showed me the process of putting a large pad in my disposable underwear, one that had a cooling feature, then she laid witch hazel pads on top of that to soothe.

When she helped me pull up the underwear, the relief was welcome.

Then I hobbled back to bed, one eye on Kane sitting in the rocking chair, his large finger tracing the nose of our tiny baby. They were in their own little world, his shirt off, pressing her skin to his.

Once I was settled, he immediately gave her up, settling her at my breast.

He helped me position her properly, like the lactation consultant who had been in earlier showed us. It felt unfamiliar. Strange. But also natural. I was awkward, afraid of holding her wrong, of breaking her.

Kane seemed more sure, more confident. Much more natural.

He gave her a kiss on the head then me one on the lips before he returned to his chair. Neither of us spoke, we just watched our baby drink then, eventually, fall asleep at my breast.

Carefully, oh so carefully, mindful of the tiny bundle and how any small movement made my pelvis light up with the fire of a thousand sons of bitches, I cradled her in the nook of my arm.

I left my breast exposed, too tired to cover it. One thing I lost that day was my modesty.

“You need to sleep.” Kane’s voice was soft and throaty and full of awe.

I glanced at him through half-lidded eyes, clutching the swaddled bundle in my arms. I looked down to her chubby cheeks, her closed eyes and the gentle flaring of her nostrils as she inhaled and exhaled.

“I don’t want to let her go.” My voice was hoarse from screaming during labor. I really thought I wouldn’t be the kind of woman who screamed. But then again, I had no fucking clue how tough giving birth unmedicated was. I would’ve roared like a dragon if I thought it would’ve given me relief.

Kane didn’t try to argue with me on that, but he again told me,, “Sleep.”

“I can’t sleep.” I tilted my head down to her. “I don’t want to drop her.”

“You won’t,” Kane replied firmly, sitting straighter in his chair.

“How can you know that?” I was sure I wouldn’t drop my baby, even in sleep, that there had to be some kind natural instinct to protect. But I also had been awake for over twenty-four hours and was more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life.

Kane pulled his chair even closer to the bed, though I hadn’t thought that was possible.

“Because I won’t let you,” he assured me. “If you drop her, I’ll catch her.”

His eyes weren’t bloodshot and there were no bags underneath them, even though he’d been awake for as long as I’dbeen. He was tired too. Granted, not as tired as I was on account of me being the one who went through childbirth.

But even still, he should’ve been fading. Kane wasn’t. Kane didn’t fade on me. His eyes were bright, determined, strong. His posture rigid.

He wouldn’t let me drop our baby. He would catch her.

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