There was something so raw. So fresh about having a baby. Like a missing puzzle piece was found and put back into place.

So watching you lay there holding our baby, filled Finley with anxiety and a type of commitment he’d never experienced before. Something so new.

Finley kept his hands tightly in his lap, so still it looked like he wasn’t even breathing. He knew how fragile you were. How fragile the baby was. One breath. One wrong love. And he could mess up. He yearned to reach out to touch the soft fuzz of the babies hair, and hold onto your hand so right circulation would be cut off, but he stopped himself. He just observed. And felt.