Chapter 9 - The First Cry
The hospital room at Greenwich Hospital was quiet, bathed in the soft, warm glow of twilight filtering through the blinds.
Aunt Helen sat in the corner armchair, knitting a tiny pink cap, while Edward Blackwood stood near the window holding a floral arrangement he had awkwardly insisted on delivering himself.
In my arms, wrapped in a pale yellow hospital blanket, was a baby girl with a shock of dark hair and tiny, perfect fingernails.
She had my nose and my father's steady, unblinking eyes.
The door clicked open softly, and Dr. Evans walked in, smiling warmly as he checked the monitors. "How are we doing over here? Vitals look pristine."
"We're doing wonderful," I whispered, pressing my cheek against the baby's soft crown.
There was no phone buzzing with frantic lies. There was no husband rushing in late with a guilty excuse and a designer apology gift. There was only the steady, rhythmic breathing of my daughter and the quiet, unbreakable peace of a home where no one had to tiptoe around a lie.
"Have you chosen a name?" Aunt Helen asked, looking up from her knitting.
May you like
I looked down at the little face resting against my chest, thinking of the armor my father had given me, and the horizon that now stretched out before us, completely unclouded.
"Thomasin," I said, smiling as the baby let out a tiny, contented sigh. "Her name is Thomasin."
