Page 43 of Borrowed Bride

Just as I’m gathering myself, the door to my room swings open and in walks a smiley nurse with tightly curled blonde hair. She pushes something on wheels in front of her and it’s not until she stops beside my bed that I realize what it is.

A makeshift cot.

“Oh look! Mamma’s awake!” The nurse says cheerily, cooing down at the baby. “How are you feeling, Mom?”

I blink hazily up at her, and when I speak, my tongue rests heavily in my mouth. “Tired,” I say. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t remember…how did I get here?” My eyes drop to the baby bundled up tightly in a pink blanket. “Is she okay?”

“You’re a little under the weather so the doctor had to sedate you, but don’t you worry, everything went perfectly. You’re both happy and healthy!”

She’s far too happy for my liking and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “I can’t afford to be here,” I murmur, bracing my hands down on the bed and easing myself painfully into a sitting position. “How long until they kick me out?”

“Listen mamma, don’t you worry about that right now,” the nurse grins, and she bustles about my bed for a minute or two, then she pauses next to me. “Do you want to hold your baby?”

Your baby.

I feel so strangely detached from those words and my heart begins to race.

What if something is wrong? What if I hold her and she cries? What if I feel nothing? What if she can tell that I’m not built to be a mother?

Those thoughts and more swarm my mind as the nurse holds my gaze, and after a few seconds, I nod. I can’t think of anything else to say.

The nurse beams at me, and with practiced ease, she scoops the baby up from the crib and gently eases her into my arms, giving a few quiet instructions to support her head and keep her close.

In an instant, the baby becomesmybaby.

Mydaughter.

The room fades to nothing, and the nurse’s words grow muted as I stare down at this absolutely gorgeous, perfect little face. My daughter scrunches her nose, and she gurgles faintly despite her closed eyes.

She’s perfect.

A painful warmth suddenly blooms out from my chest, and I can’tbreathebecause of how intense the rush of love is. Tears warm behind my eyes, and all my stresses and fears are momentarily forgotten.

“See?” the nurse speaks softly. “Holding her makes everything else unimportant.”

She’s right. From the first touch, all I care about is keeping her safe. The surge of love is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and with it comes a stab of sadness in my heart.

Did my mother ever feel like this? And if she did, how could she give me the terrible life I lead?

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” the nurse asks.

I shake my head. “No,” I whisper, lightly touching my daughter’s forehead. “There’s no one.”

“Have you thought of a name?”

Staring down at her adorable, scrunchy face, I nod just once as the tears come. “I’m going to call her Freya.”

The second timeI wake up, my attention is immediately on the crib by my bed. The nurse had been kind enough to talk me through breastfeeding, though a deep sense of failure sat heavy in my chest when I failed to provide any milk for Freya. According to the nurse, it’s very common and we were to try again later after more rest.

My room is dark now, and the only light comes from the machines around my bed monitoring me and my baby. My body aches, and my heart is full, yet weighed down at the same time, and I can’t take my eyes off her as she sleeps soundly next to me.

How did I do this? How did I keep myself hiddenandgrow another human inside of me? This miracle is almost beyond my understanding because someone like me should not be capable of creating something as small and perfect as her.

“Cute kid,” says a husky voice from the darkness.

My heart lurches and I jerk upward on my bed, scanning the shadows for where that strange voice came from. I see nothing at all, yet just as I fear it was my imagination, there’s a scuffle of fabric.

My hand shoots out to the alarm button near my bed, and as I repeatedly press the button, husky laughter flows from the shadows.

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