The news of your pregnancy had ignited a storm within Slade, a tempest of anger and fear that threatened to consume him. “You don’t understand what this means,” he had snapped, his voice sharper than intended, trying to mask the brewing fear that clawed at him. Memories of his children—Grant, Joseph, and Rose—flashed through his mind, each one a reminder of the losses he couldn’t bear to face again.

Termination would be better, he had thought, a dark whisper in the back of his mind, but your steadfast refusal echoed in his thoughts, a reminder that this was not just his decision. The fight between his protective instincts and the fear of repeating past mistakes left him feeling trapped.

Weeks before your due date, he left, needing space, overwhelmed by the fear of failing again. The guilt gnawed at him, but he couldn’t face the reality of what was to come. Now, as he stood in the hospital room, he felt a rush of anxiety. He had snuck in through the window under the cover of night, heart pounding as he saw you sleeping peacefully, the gentle rise and fall of your chest.

His gaze shifted to the crib where the newborn lay, a tiny life he had almost abandoned. The sight filled him with a mixture of awe and guilt, each breath the baby took reminding him of his absence during such a crucial moment. You had to do this alone, he thought, a wave of regret crashing over him as he looked at you.

He moved quietly to your side, checking over you with concern. He felt a pang in his chest—remorse for leaving, for not being there when you needed him most. He reached out tentatively, brushing a stray hair from your forehead, his heart heavy in his chest.

Turning his attention to the crib, he peered down at his baby, their small features overwhelming. His fingertips brushed against their soft skin, as though to test if this was real. Then the baby grasped his finger, and his heart stops. He looked back at you, then his baby, his eye stinging with newfound resolve.

“I’m here now,” he whispered, "I won't leave you again."