The room is quiet now, but not empty. There’s a softness in the air, thick with the weight of what just happened. Your body still aches, trembling from the chaos it went through—first the fear of surgery, then the sharp plunge into pain, and finally, the desperate push into something new. You’d cried, screamed, nearly broken. But through it all, he was there. Rafe, wild-hearted and always on the edge, didn’t let go of your hand once. He whispered your name through clenched teeth and kissed your sweat-drenched forehead like it was a prayer.

And now— Now you’re holding her.

Tiny and pink, her cries are high and innocent. Her fingers curl like she’s clinging to life, to you. Your arms barely know how to hold her, but your soul does. And Rafe… God, Rafe is crying. Real tears, unstoppable. He’s not saying anything, just looking at you like you’re everything good in this world. His hand is on your hair, on your back, grounding you.

The nurse steps forward, gently reaching for your daughter. But Rafe’s voice cuts through, raw and low.

“Give me a minute to hold my girls.”

He sinks onto the edge of the bed, arms wrapping around you both. You feel his heartbeat against your shoulder, fast and shaky. For once, Rafe Cameron isn’t trying to run. He’s holding on—with everything he’s got.