Chapter 17 - Glass and Incubators
Her name was Maeve. It meant *she who intoxicates with joy*, and she weighed exactly four pounds and six ounces.
Twelve hours after the surgery, I was rolled in a wheelchair into the neonatal intensive care unit. The NICU was a cathedral of hushed voices, dim lighting, and soft, rhythmic beeps. Maeve was resting inside an isolette—a clear acrylic incubator designed to mimic the warmth of the womb she had been forced to leave too soon.
Small leads were taped to her translucent chest, and a tiny cannula supplied humidified oxygen into her button nose. But her fingers were perfect. Tiny, delicate, with paper-thin nails, curled tightly around the edge of a miniature fleece blanket.
"You can touch her," the NICU nurse whispered gently, adjusting Maeve’s IV line. "Wash your hands thoroughly at the station, and you can slip your hands through the access ports."
My hands shook as I scrubbed with antiseptic soap. When I finally reached inside the warm, humid interior of the incubator, the contrast between the sterile world outside and her fragile warmth struck me to the core. I placed the tip of my index finger into her open palm.
Instantly, her miniature fingers clamped around mine with surprising, fierce strength.
Tyler leaned over the glass, his eyes dark with exhaustion but shining with an emotion so pure it made him look years younger. "She has your stubborn chin," he whispered, a tender smile breaking across his weary face. "She's not giving up on anything."
"She shouldn't have had to fight this early," I murmured, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
"She won't ever have to fight alone again," Tyler said firmly. He slipped his hand through the opposite port, resting his fingers over mine and Maeve's linked hands. "The attorney called while you were sleeping. The grand jury met in an emergency session regarding Denise's safe deposit box."
I looked up at him, the remnants of the past still casting long shadows. "What did they find?"
"Everything," Tyler replied, his voice hardening into steel. "Dad's original holographic will, untampered with. The bank records showing how she siphoned over three million dollars from the family trust into offshore shell companies. And... a handwritten journal detailing how she manipulated Dad's medical dosages during his final weeks to keep him compliant."
A chill washed through the quiet room. "Tyler... did she..."
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"The prosecutor is reviewing Dad's autopsy report right now," Tyler said coldly. "They are considering filing charges for depraved indifference manslaughter. Denise will never see daylight as a free woman again. She will never know where Maeve goes to school. She will never hold her. Her name is being legally stripped from all our family assets."
He looked back down at our daughter, his expression softening instantly into unconditional love. "This child starts with clean hands, Claire. No ghosts. No curses."
