Page 40 of Sassy Surrogate
Fifteen minutes later, the old folks return, and Cat takes her turn. And before I know it, it’s my turn to go meet my baby girl. I follow the nurse down the hall into a small room fitted out with a recliner, a rocking chair, and a couple of occasional tables.
“Get comfy, I’ll just be a minute.” The nurse leaves the room, and I settle into the rocking chair to wait. She bustles back into the room, a tiny pink bundle cradled in her arms. “Here you go,” she says as she lays the little bundle in my arms, and I get my first look at my daughter.
Just as I felt myself fall in love with her mother the day I first saw this precious child as nothing more than a grainy bean on a monitor, so I freefall into a deep and profound love for my little girl.
Leaning forward to place the gentlest of kisses on her forehead, I savour the feel of her tiny body against my heart. I look down at her to find her studying me.
“Hi, precious. I’m your dad.” My breath catches at the words I never thought I’d get to say. “Your mom can’t come meet you just yet, so I’m here. And I want you to know, you are loved – so much more than you will ever know, by both Mom and me. And I vow to do everything humanly possible to keep you safe.”
I swear, as her gaze clings to mine, that she understands my words and gives me a tiny smile.
Epilogue : Danica & Heath
California - Present Day
Danica
The weather here in California is incredible, reminding me so much of Cape Town it makes me a little homesick. But the sight of Heath and Hannah playing on the sand eases it. Mom and my grandparents will be flying out in a couple of days to share our first summer holiday since Hannah’s birth, and I cannot wait.
Once the dust settled after my attack and the threat from Dad’s associates was neutralised, they decided to go home to South Africa. It broke my heart to say goodbye, but I understood. Staying here in the US was my choice, my path, not theirs. And they longed for Table Mountain and home.
They’d stayed long enough to share Hannah’s birth with us, but it’s been sixteen months since I last saw them. I’ve missed them so much; it feels way longer.
Little Miss is playing in the sand a short distance from me, and my handsome husband is standing in the water contemplating the horizon. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking so hard about. Hearing a gurgle of laughter, I turn my attention back to my daughter. I absolutely love that sound. It gets me every time. There is nothing quite like that of baby laughter.
Her excited squealing has me curious as Hannah starts waddling across the short distance toward me, her little arms flapping enthusiastically.
Finally reaching me, she braces herself on my shoulder as she bounces, beside herself with delight as she points and babbles incoherently. She’s talking really well for her age, but that goes out the window when something piques her interest, and she can’t get the words out fast enough.
Turning in the direction she’s pointing, a bizarre scene meets my eyes. My board shorts-clad husband is now dashing down the beach chasing a goat.A goat. What on earth? I study the animal as it’s running away from Heath, a leash flapping merrily in its wake, and realise it has something in its mouth. Heath stops to pick something up and heaves it across the sand.
Without warning, the little goat falls over, its short legs stiff as boards. Oh God, I think he just killed someone’s pet. Snatching Hannah up, I haul ass to where the animal is lying perfectly still. We reach it at the same time.
“What on earth did you throw at this poor goat?”
“A small shell. It wasn’t big enough to kill it,” Heath replies, bewildered at its lack of movement. “At least I didn’t think it was.”
I notice movement off to the side and turn to see a man jogging over to where we’re standing. “What’s the little bugger up to this time?”
“Is this your goat?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Yeah, he’s mine – well, probably more my wife’s, but yeah. I hope he hasn’t been causing any havoc,” the man replies.
“Um, I’m really sorry. I think my husband might have accidentally killed him.”
“Nah, it’s highly unlikely. The little drama queen is prone to fainting spells.” The man laughs.
The words are barely out of his mouth when we hear a tiny bleat. He goes over to the goat, rubbing its little head, and it jumps nimbly to its feet, leaning into the rubs. Hannah, silent to this point, her eyes huge in her tiny face, resumes her excited bouncing.
“Goap. Goap, Mama.” Her hands flapping, her little body vibrating, she points at the goat.
“Yes, baby. Goat.”
“Pet, pleath.”
“You want to pet the goat? Is that what you want, precious?”
“Yes, pleath, Mama.”
