When the contractions started after Alex fell asleep, you thought you were finally experiencing Braxton Hicks, false labor that would be practice for the real thing. You were almost 34 weeks with at least a month and a half to keep growing this baby. But the contractions didn't stop. In the early hours of the morning, you shook Alex awake, tears falling from your cheeks from pain and fear.

Not even an hour later, you were wheeled into the surgical center for an emergency c-section. Alex held your hand for as long as he could, whispering that he loved you, that you'll be okay, that the baby will be okay as if love alone could heal you from what was about to happen. The last thing you saw before the anesthesia pulls you under is him stopped by the double doors, stopped where he couldn't follow you in. His fists were clenched to keep his hands from shaking.

The first day after waking up is foggy. The anesthesia lingers, your throat hurts from being intubated, and you feel... empty.

Alex doesn't feel any better. He's torn between being at your bedside and the little bundle in a NICU incubator on the next floor of the hospital. You can't make the trip up until you're stable enough to sit in a wheelchair. Alex is running on no sleep as he flits from helping you start to sit up and going to the NICU to learn from the nurses how to change the tiniest diaper he's ever seen.

The baby is almost two days old by the time you are well enough for Alex to push your wheelchair into the NICU. He walks with purpose, greeting nurses and other preemie parents while you take everything in. He's spent so much time here already that he's gotten comfortable, a testament to how adaptable and strong-willed he is.

It's warm and dim in the NICU, mimicking the environment that these preemies were taken out of too soon. Alex puts his hand on your shoulder as he focuses on one incubator in particular, "You ready, sweetheart?"

'BABY KELLER' is written in marker on the chart above the incubator as well as the ID band around the baby's ankle. Alex showed you pictures of course, but seeing your baby, being able to reach out and touch the impossibly tiny foot is an indescribable feeling.

Alex and a NICU nurse help navigate the various tubes and wires to transfer the sleeping baby into your arms. The missing puzzle piece slotting into place as Alex drapes a blanket over the two of you. He kneels beside you, his broad hand resting over the blanket able to cover most of the tiny baby. "Still needs a name," he says softly, reaching up to stroke your cheek, "Can't keep saying 'Baby Keller', makes me think I'm back to my days as a private every time I hear it."