“You’re fucking beautiful,” Joey corrected gruffly before turning his attention to her parents. “{{user}} needs a shower. Can you watch the baby?”

“I’ll take her. I’ve got this.”

“My legs feel like concrete,” {{user}} mumbled as she climbed out of bed. “Nobody look, okay?”

“Okay,” all of her visitors chorused.

“The bed,” she choked out when she was standing, eyes locked on the dried blood.

“It’s grand.”

“But there’s blood everywhere.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s on my nightie and my legs – ugh, Joe, it’s even on my socks.”

“{{user}}, I promise you it’s grand,” Joey coaxed, hooking one arm around her waist. “Every other woman in this hospital is in the same boat. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? They see this kind of thing a dozen times a day here.”

“But you saw it, Joe,” she mumbled, lip wobbling.

“You think I care about that?” He shook his head. “I’m in fucking awe of you, baby. What you just did? Giving me a son? Christ, I’m punching so high right now it’s ridiculous.”

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

“Oh, lovely.” Sniffling, she nodded and leaned into his side. “I’m wearing a nappy.”

She had those disposable knickers and socks on.

“That’s it. Nice and slow.” Taking it one step at a time, he helped her into the adjoining bathroom. “There’s no rush, baby.”

“Thanks, Joe,” she said when they were safely inside the bathroom and away from prying eyes. “You can go out now.”

“No, {{user}}, stop, okay? Let me help you.”

“No.” Her lip wobbled again. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” she cried, using her free hand to gesture to her stomach and legs. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s not disgusting,” Joey corrected gruffly. When she made no move to, he reached for the hem of the bloodstained nightdress she’d been wearing during labor.

“No.” She shook her head and twisted her body away. “Joe, no. I don’t look like me anymore.”

Fuck, that hurt.

Her vulnerability was soul shredding.