Page 175 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
And then—
A piercing cry splits the air.
My eyes fly open, and I collapse back against the bed, gasping. The room shifts instantly: relief flooding every corner, the nurses moving quickly but gently, the doctor’s quiet instructions.
Jackson makes a sound I’ve never heard from him before: a raw, stunned laugh that turns into a choked sob.
The nurse places a small, wiggling bundle on my chest. My arms come up automatically, trembling as I curl around her tiny, impossibly warm body.
Our baby girl.
She’s squalling, her little fists flailing, her skin soft and pink. I press my forehead to hers, tears spilling faster now, unstoppable.
“Hi,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Hi, sweet girl. You’re here.”
Jackson’s hand moves over her back, the other cupping my face as he kisses my temple again and again.
“You did it,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Ava, she’s perfect.”
I glance up at him, our eyes locking: both of us wide open, raw, everything laid bare.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. We’re both crying, laughing, breathing hard.
“She’s so beautiful,” I whisper.
“She looks just like you,” he says, his thumb brushing tears from my cheek.
We stay like that, the three of us, tangled together in that first precious, impossible moment: all the pain forgotten, replaced by a fierce, protective love so strong it feels like it might split me open all over again.
Jackson brushes strands of hair from my face. "My mom and your parents are on their way. They’re so excited. Your mom said they’d be on the first flight out."
I let out a shaky laugh, relief threading through the pain.
The nurses finish their checks, wrapping our daughter in a soft pink blanket before settling her back onto my chest. She lets out a soft, content sound, her tiny fingers curling around the edge of the fabric.
Jackson sits at the edge of the bed, one hand hovering protectively near her head, the other still gripping mine. We keep glancing at each other, still dazed, like we’re both making sure this is real.
A quiet knock at the door pulls us from our bubble.
Miss Taylor peeks in first, her eyes shining. She steps aside, and the boys spill into the room, wide-eyed and breathless.
Liam stops first, his gaze fixed on the bundle in my arms. Noah edges closer, his mouth falling open.
“Is that… her?” Liam asks, his voice hushed and awestruck.
I nod, tears springing up again. “Come say hi.”
Jackson helps guide them forward. Miss Taylor hangs back, her hand pressed to her heart, tears slipping down her cheeks as she watches.
Liam steps carefully to my side, peering down with big, cautious eyes. Noah follows, practically bouncing with excitement but holding himself back, like he knows this moment is delicate.
“She’s so little,” Noah whispers, his fingers curling into the blanket at his side.
“She’s your sister,” Jackson says, his voice low and warm. “And she’s been waiting to meet you.”
Liam shifts a little closer, studying her face intently. “She’s really cute,” he declares finally.
A laugh bubbles out of me, unsteady but full. “She is,” I agree.
