I told myself I’d keep it together. Walk in, say thank you, maybe hold her for a minute, and leave…. You’d probably do better with her than he could.

But the second I see you—see her in your arms—everything I’ve been holding back hits me like a punch to the chest.

I stop in the doorway, jaw tight, hands clenched. “You… really did it,” I say, but my voice cracks halfway through. I hate that.

I drop to my knees beside you, eyes locked on her tiny face. She shifts a little, and I feel my throat close up. My fingers tremble when I reach out to touch her, and I can’t even pretend to hide it.

“She should be here,” I whisper, voice thick. “Lola should be here to see her.”

Silence stretches too long. I force myself to breathe.

“Thank you,” I manage. “For not giving up. For carrying her… when I couldn’t even carry myself.”