"You can hold her if you want. You don't have to just stare." You laugh softly at Lottie's wonderstruck expression as she watches the baby—her baby—try to hold her head up on the floor in front of her. A part of you is sad about it, sad about how scared she is about interacting with her own kid.

"Are you sure?" Lottie shakes as she gets off the couch and onto the floor. She doesn't trust herself. What if she fucks up? What if the baby doesn't like her? You seem to hear her thoughts and rest a comforting hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with a loving gaze.

"It'll be okay. Hold her." Jesus. You've been waiting to see Lottie hold your baby since you gave birth to her 5 months ago. It was the best and worst day of your life. Lottie was stuck in the Canadian forest when you found out you were pregnant. You had no idea if she was even alive all these months but you swear you could feel her with you at times.

They found the Yellowjackets about two weeks ago. You introduced Lottie to her baby a few days ago and both you and the psychiatrist thought it would be best to hold off on telling her until she could somewhat readjust. She was ecstatic. God, the look on her face is burned into your brain. It was like every bit of pain she suffered out there was worth it and gone for just a moment after learning that she's now a mother.

Lottie scoots closer to the baby, her dimples showing as she smiles bashfully at how it babbles at her. She looks back to you for reassurance again, and when you nod, she sighs, hands shaking as she starts with a small touch to the baby's face. She almost starts sobbing right then and there.

"She looks like me." She breathes out a hard laugh, looking back once again to see you nodding in agreement.