Page 106 of Her Ex's Father
When Benedict Bronson strode through those doors the day I was to get married, it was fate. It washim,whether I knew it then or not.
Juniper squirms just enough to draw my attention from my nervous, handsome husband. She’s so small. Her fingers curl instinctively around mine, impossibly tiny, impossibly strong. Her breathing is soft, steady, like the whisper of wings.
I press my lips to her forehead, inhaling her scent, some mix of milk and warmth and newness. My heart aches, my body shakes, but for the first time in my life, I feel whole.
Dr. Furman arrives moments later with Meredith in tow, both brisk but kind—though I can see the remainder of stress on Meredith’s face from hours ago. A quick flash of memory; the surprise on her face when that first contraction, the firstrealone, almost crippled me in the street.
“How are we feeling?” Dr. Furman asks, scanning my chart before looking at me directly.
“Like I’ve been through a war,” I say honestly.
“That’s accurate,” he says, with a small smile. “But you came through beautifully. They’ll keep you for at least two days. Extended aftercare once you’re home, myself and Meredith checking in on you. And Juniper will need a week or two inthe NICU—precautionary, since she’s a little stressed and early. She’s breathing well, but we want to be cautious.”
The words sting, but I nod. “Okay.” I remember this coming up in past prenatal appointments—the possibility of leaving the hospital without her, of her needing to get stronger.
Meredith steps forward, resting a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to be taken care of, Maddie. You’ll have a full team at home. Nutrition, physical therapy, nursing care. Whatever you need. And you can visit Juniper here, of course.”
Ben adds quietly, fiercely, “Anything. Whatever she needs.”
I glance at him, but he’s looking at me, not the doctor and Meredith, his jaw tight with determination. For all his power, all his wealth, the only thing he wants right now is to keep me standing.
I nod, but my focus returns instantly to Juniper. Her tiny face, her fluttering lashes, the way she shifts and sighs against me.
Nothing else matters.
That night, after the nurses leave and the suite grows quiet again, I lie back against the pillows, Juniper in my arms, Ben stretched beside me. His arm curves around us, protective, his eyes never leaving her. It’s comical how big he is on this bed, and I know at some point I’ll have to convince him to move to the pull-out couch, so he doesn’t end up on the floor.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“She is,” he agrees softly. “Looks like you.”
I laugh a little, shaking my head. “No. She looks a bit like you, with this dark hair. And like herself.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, lingering there. “I thought I’d lost you both.” His voice is low, rough. “I’ve never been so scared.”
“You didn’t.” I tilt my head, meeting his eyes. “We’re here. Both of us.”
He nods, but his eyes still burn with the ghost of fear. I kiss him gently, tasting salt, maybe mine, maybe his. There’s an edge of guilt to the soft, overwhelming love I feel for both of them—the memory of Ben’s face when I signed over all medical decisions to him, just moments from being taken in.
“You know,” I murmur against his lips, “I knew everything was going to be alright. If I left you in charge. Right?”
Another nod, but this time his throat bobs with thick emotion. He doesn’t say anything, not right away, and I sink back into the moment before they wheeled me away from him—the certainty that everything would be okay. That leaving it all in his hands was the best choice.
“We’ll go home soon,” he says after a while. “Two days to spend as much time with her as you want, and we’ll come back every day. She won’t be alone.”
I smooth a hand over Juniper’s back, her tiny breaths warming my chest. “She’ll never be alone. Not with us.”
In this moment, I believe it. I have a family. A daughter. A man who loves me unconditionally, without limit.
The ache in my body is sharp, but the fullness in my heart eclipses it.
I close my eyes, holding them both close, and let myself sink into the kind of peace I never thought I’d find.
Epilogue
6 Months Later
Golden sunlight filters through the tall lodge windows, catching on dust motes that drift lazily in the warm afternoon air. Aspen in June feels alive—birds calling from the pines, a soft hum of insects rising from the meadows, and the far-off rush of the river swollen with snowmelt. It makes me miss some parts of Montana, of the only home I knew before coming here. But Colorado feels closer, tighter in this forest, and like the one place on earth I’ve ever really belonged.
