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"What if..." Sylus sighs. "What if she doesn't like me?"
You let out a small laugh. "Why wouldn't she like you?"
He shakes his head, the words on his tongue burning, unwilling to fill the air on the off chance he's right. He stands too far away, a couple steps from the bed, arms crossed and brow pinched tight.
You can read him clear as day. One arm cradling your baby, you use the other to help lift yourself up. He starts forward, arms stretching out to support you. He's careful not to touch the baby, not to disturb your arm holding her, not to get too close.
You manage to scoot over a few inches on the hospital bed, but it saps nearly all the energy you had left. Your eyes droop heavily as you pat the empty space beside you.
He stays where he is for a second. But he never really can refuse the silent request to be close to you.
He moves slowly as he sits at the edge of the bed. There really isn't room for him, but he squeezes beside you anyway. He sits up against the plastic headboard, and you lean heavily against him with a sigh, relieved to have him there with you again.
You blink your eyes open and gently transfer your baby girl into his arms. His whole body goes rigid, hands holding her by instinct alone. It's surreal. His mind can't fully fathom it: such a tiny life, right there in his hands, so new and fragile.
You guide his arms, guide him in how to hold her. He'd read countless books, watched countless videos - nothing could prepare him for this. To the warm weight of his child - his daughter - cradled in his arms.
He releases a quiet breath, shaky around the edges. You smile up at him. Love warms your eyes, sleep softens them. You reach out to rest your hand on his arm. You can feel how tense he is, how scared he is. "She's not afraid of you," you whisper.
And you're right, because of course you are. All his fears, all his nightmares of a child who only cries bloody murder when he's near, who writhes in his grasp, who grows to resent him, are entirely unfounded when faced with the blatant reality before him. For the first time in god knows how long, tears burn at his eyes. They well up, blur his vision as he stares down at her chubby cheeks and squished little face.
You rest your tired head against him with a hum. It's all too easy to let your eyes fully slip closed. Even easier to fall fast asleep within seconds. He looks down at you, fear spiking his heart for a second, left alone to his own devices. But he sees his baby's face, your baby's face, and it steals it all away, until he's breathless and exposed.
Her little body, swaddled in soft pink fabric, is made to look smaller when he tucks her into the crook of his elbow to free up his other arm. His fingers dwarf her fat little arms, nearly just as long and as thick, as he carefully pulls the blankets away from her face.
Her skin is so soft. He brushes calloused fingers over her round cheek, enamored with just how perfect she is. A smile blooms on his face without his even realizing. Tears slipping down his cheeks like shiny diamonds.
He leans down, practically holding his breath as he so very lightly presses a kiss to her forehead. He only breathes again when he's sat back up. He turns to press a matching kiss on your own forehead, lingering several seconds as his lips begin to quiver with emotion.
Of all the treasures he's ever hoarded in his lifetime, nothing could ever hold a candle to this right here: his life partner, his daughter, safely right up against him and fast asleep. Both of you, trusting him, feeling secure and safe with him. A family that truly loves him. A family of his own.